


Give Us Some Ragnarok

by SalvainKarnan



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: During seasons 1 and 2, F/M, M/M, Post Season/Series 08 Finale, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalvainKarnan/pseuds/SalvainKarnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Servants of Heaven will fall, and the first to die will visit with the blood of he who was made man.”</p><p>Castiel is having a hard time being human, so when he is called to a diner in California, he finds himself talking to someone he thought was dead...<br/>Scott is having a hard time being a werewolf, so when the hunters go to war, his family and pack should be the first thing on his mind...</p><p>(Timeline is slightly altered for ease of flow)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Earthquakes

_"If I had a dollar for every time you screwed up, Cas, I'd buy a Hemi Cuda... Convertible."_  

Groaning, Dean reluctantly rolled out of bed. The humming of the lights accompanied him as he entered the kitchen to pour himself a coffee. Nothing could shake the headache that plagued him. Getting up in the middle of the night to check up on his brother drained the man. But it was nothing he couldn't deal with. A few headaches were nothing compared to the pain Metatron would suffer soon. The man took solace in the thought of torching that traitorous SOB.

Before Dean could pursue that dark, and comforting, line of thought, he noticed the small form of another man enter the room. Castiel looked dreadful. The guy hadn't shaved in a week, so rocked an Andreas Kisser beard. If the fallen angel even opened his mouth to speak, Dean was sure he would probably punch him. The two of them hadn't said a word to each other since the 'Fall', and it was better that way. The only reason Cas was here was because Sam had a more forgiving outlook.  

After a few moments of awkward eye contact with the man, Cas opened his mouth, sharply shutting it again. Toast. Yes, toast would be good. Humans ate toast all of the time. Distracting himself from the judging gaze, Castiel found himself placing bread in the microwave. Wait... That's wrong. How do humans make toast? Why don't angels learn these things, ready for having their grace ripped from them? 

Out of nowhere, a large and pallid hand took the bread from the confused man, placing it in the toaster. "S'okay Cas, first time for everything, right?" The ex-angel turned to see the sickly giant, Sammy, in his brother's place. The younger man smiled gently, however, his eyes spoke a different truth. He was tired and in agony. Something was eating him from the inside, and Castiel could do nothing to help. 

The two ate breakfast together in the kitchen, before heading into the main room, where Dean had set up shop surrounded by piles of ancient tomes and newspaper clippings. He was determined to send the angels back home, before they did anything truly disastrous. Some had already been pursued by police for thefts and murders, and others admitted into specialist hospitals. Unlike Cas, they had powers. They were still angels.

Clearing his throat, Sam sat opposite his brother, who gave him a soft smile before continuing research. Castiel found himself sat awkwardly at the end of the table, as far away from Dean as possible, whilst still being seated in the same room. The ex-angel slowly began reading an excerpt about Talmudic Angels, making his heart sink a little. There was little he could read that would give him new knowledge, but there was so much he still desired to know. Every angel in history was special, and now Castiel was human, he found himself feeling out of place. At least as an angel he had someone who understood how he felt.

Suddenly, Cas found himself surrounded in light, a familiar voice calling out to him, a  wild and vicious howl piercing the air. 

"Cas? C'mon you son of a-" Around him, the light began to fade as the ex-angel found himself being shaken back to life by the all too familiar berating of Dean. Once his senses had finally returned, Castiel realised he was sprawled across the all-too-cold marble flooring, loomed over by the Righteous Man. 

Reaching out a shaking palm, the ex-angel gripped the other man's left arm to tug himself up. "I... Apologise. It must have been a bad daydream." There was no other explanation for it. Humans did suffer from that, didn't they? 

No, it seemed they didn't. Licking his bottom lip, Dean frowned, before returning to his seat. "Yeah, just don't do it again." His voice didn't sit well with Cas, who hadn't heard it in eight days, four hours and fifteen minutes. There was something wrong, other than the recent hostile air between them. The Winchester boy seemed more distant than ever, and in as much pain as his brother. 

Upsetting himself with these thoughts was not constructive, the ex-angel reasoned, so made his way back to his room. However, as he shuffled down the hall, another searing blast of light struck him. And again. Before he knew it, Castiel had been thrown down the staircase leading to the bedrooms. 

Panting, Castiel dragged himself into the showers, throbbing behind his eyes and ringing in his ears. Pulling himself up to the sink, he began to run both taps, and placed his face in the steaming water. Every few seconds, he'd have to remove his face from the healing liquid to breathe, and every few seconds he'd see his reflection in the mirror.

So, when Castiel saw someone not Jimmy facing him, he froze. One blink, and again faced his own reflection, before he collapsed on the cold stone flooring, falling into unconsciousness. 

Ringing. Again and again. Was no one else going to answer it? Castiel found himself holding the receiver to his ear, a sharp crackle on the other end, before a recognisable voice. "Cassie, meet me at Beacon Hills, CA. Fifties diner just off the northern boulevard. Midnight." Then silence. Replacing the receiver, Castiel fell into darkness.

Groaning, the man pried himself up from the floor, mouth filled with a bitter taste. As Cas showered, he found himself wondering whether to follow the orders of that recognisable voice. It wasn't a sane plan, he didn't even know if "Angel Radio" worked on him anymore, unlike Anna, who blamed the Apocalypse. If he could contact angels, perhaps it wasn't a good idea to follow their word.

Steam from the shower cleared the ex-angel's mind, and he found himself filled with renewed purpose. Even if those were the words of a strange hallucination, Castiel would make it his job to find out the truth. 

Taking one of Dean's razors, Cas hacked away at the beard he had obtained over the short space of time as a human, and looked upon his clean-shaven face anew. Selecting his usual, now washed, attire, he wore it with pride. If Castiel was going to be human and meet one of his brothers, he was at least going to do it with dignity, as a soldier should, regardless of his sins.

Re-entering the main chamber of the bunker, the ex-angel cleared his throat, grabbing the attention of the other two men. Glancing up, Dean couldn't help but grin, "Wow, Cas has finally decided to join us clean folk." Then continued reading an excerpt on Ragnarok. Sam simply smiled at Cas.

"I have decided to..." He had to word this correctly, one word and he'd probably be hit. "I have... Some connection to the angels, it seems." Castiel's heart raced. What if Dean refused to let him leave? What if he wouldn't be allowed back in? He had to make sure it didn't sound as if he was abandoning them. "I've been given a clue of where to go."

Frowning, Dean placed the book back on the table, eyes meeting Castiel's. Pursing his lips, the young man nodded. "We better get going then. Sammy, you okay with a trip to-" He glanced at Castiel.

"California."

Clearing his throat, the younger brother nodded, before getting up to pack. 

As Dean headed past the ex-angel, Cas softly gripped his forearm. "I can go alone, Dean. Sam is not well..." This was responded to with a silent frown. "I need to do this alone, please."  

Unable to look at the blue-eyed man directly, Dean yanked his arm from his grip. "If I had a dollar for every time you screwed up, Cas, I'd buy a Hemi Cuda... Convertible." Catching eye contact, the younger man held his steady gaze. "Do you really think I would let you go... anywhere without adult supervision after you let that squirrelly bastard cut your grace out?"

There it was. The truth. Dean knew nothing of the truth, and even less about Castiel. Trapped in stunned silence, the ex-angel watched as Dean stormed past. His grace was not a commodity to be traded, and it hurt like hellfire when it was torn from him. 

Castiel then found himself storming out of the bunker, past frowning Sam, past the impala, and down into town. He could hear Dean's heavy footsteps following behind him. He could hear the yelling. He could see Dean as he tried to stop him. Then he couldn't. If Castiel were to glance behind him, he knew, he'd see Dean storm back up the hill, ordering Sam to go back inside.

Memories of this crossed the ex-angel's mind as he sat on the bus. The overly friendly, overly sweet scented woman practically sitting on his lap could not shake these thoughts. "So, where're you headed, handsome?"

Castiel frowned, "I don't know where 'Handsome' is, but I'm going to California." 

The high-pitched laughter was piercing. "Oh, you're funny. So... What's in the Golden State? Your girlfriend?" One sharp shake of the head, and the woman was practically beaming. "I'm Isabella Shaw."

"Castiel."

"Well Cassie-"

"No abbreviations. Just Castiel." It was the only thing he had left, his name. He was not going to let a stranger take that from him. It just felt... wrong. 

Mouthing a silent 'Okay', Isabella clasped a hand around his arm, "If you find yourself in Hollywood, call in to Hellblazers III set. Just ask for me." 

Although he knew he would not, Cas gave a false nod. Although he believed conversation with Isabella would be shallow, she revealed that she had studied quantum mechanics in college, but dropped out when she found her calling in the spotlight. The ex-angel had no idea what she was talking about half the time, but her bright enthusiasm for the quantum realm of atomic and subatomic length scales, made him smile. This is what it meant to be a human. 

When asked about his life, Castiel told her a little white lie. He claimed he was a writer, and that his most recent works were about an angel becoming human. For hours, he explained the past few centuries to this bright eyed young woman. When something exciting happened, she'd grip his hand, and, eventually, he was surrounded by people listening. 

Once it ended, Isabella hugged Castiel tight, "You better write that story, Mister, and send me a signed copy. Or I'll hunt you down like Dreamy Dean would." Standing, the young lady tapped him on the tip of his nose and passed him her card. They bid their farewells, and, just as she stepped off, the ex-angel smiled. He could make friends on his own, he didn't need a holy purpose or to bring anyone back from Hell. 

The rest of the journey was silent and a little boring, so Cas was relieved when he was finally in Beacon Hills. Stepping down from the bus, he realised the diner was just opposite the station. Quickly entering it, he found he was dead on time. 

It was surprisingly crowded for midnight, but there was only one person the ex-angel noticed. The person Castiel should never have been able to see again. Sliding into the booth opposite the person, he frowned. "Gabriel."

With a cheeky smirk, Gabe flexed his eyebrows, "Cassie, I had no idea whether that would work, seeing your..." The cheeky Archangel leant in, "Performance issues." He then offered Castiel the menu, and began to slurp on his giant chocolate milkshake. 

Waving over the waitress, Castiel ordered himself the Frosty's Burger and vanilla milkshake, then turned to his brother. "How are you-" 

"Alive? One guess." Castiel then glanced upwards, before giving Gabe a quizzical frown. "Yep. Big man thinks I'm needed." The angel began blowing bubbles into his drink. "But you... You've been makin' waves, little brother."

Dropping his gaze, Castiel began to count the flecks on the tabletop. Maybe it was a human thing, but he had a real urge to begin folding his napkin into a dog shape. 

Laughing, Gabriel jabbed the human with his straw, "Don't worry 'bout it kid. I'm not going to go all 'Hellfire and Brimstone' on you. That was more Mike and Raphi's gig anyhow." The two of them paused and a giant tray of food slid between them. "I have a proposition for you." Snatching several fries, Gabriel dipped them into his drink. "Be human."

Frowning, Cas glanced up, "I am human."  

"Not what I mean, Cassie." The angel leant forwards, across the table. "I want you to get a job, marry. Do all the crap angels aren't supposed to. Run through town in nothing but baby oil. Who cares. Just be human." Leaning back into his seat, Gabriel bit into a fry and shrugged. 

Shaking his head, Castiel declined. If this was all he defied Dean for, and broke Sam's trust for, then maybe they were right to hide him away. Fleeing his only family to meet a dead Archangel was bad enough, but now that angel was asking him do the unforgivable, completely abandon them. 

As if reading Cas' mind, Gabe smirked, "'Snot like it's forever. Just a week experimenting. Maybe I'm asking you to do this for another reason, one that'll reveal itself through the week." If Gabriel had a message, why didn't he just tell him? Castiel knew what his big brother was like, deceptive, absolute and downright selfish. Or he used to be, before the Winchesters talked him down. 

Slowly, Castiel nodded. Gabriel had died for the Winchesters, maybe he deserved to be extended the hand of trust. "A week. If you are lying, I will not stay." 

"Awesome." With a cheeky grin, the Archangel stole the cherry from the human's milkshake. "Welcome to Beacon Hills Castiel Novak." 


	2. Heartbeats

_"You should be more careful about who you make your enemy, Mr McCall."_

Chatter of students filled the halls of Beacon Hills High School. Stiles practically stormed into his Ancient History class, before throwing himself into a chair. Only few other students had trickled into the room before he noticed Scott rush over. Glaring, the human pretended to ignore his best friend. Tapping his pencil against the desk, he internally hummed. Stiles tried to restrain himself from punching his friend for not saving his dad or answering his calls. Werewolves, pfft.

Seating himself behind his grumpy pal, Scott leant forwards, "Still not talking to me?" No reply. "Stiles?" Again, Stiles looked anywhere but at him. "C'mon, Stiles, at least tell me if your dad's okay." He knew Stiles, and knew that he could never hold a grudge, but he could still make it difficult. Stiles usually forgot what he was supposed to be angry about, especially when excited.

Suddenly, the class fell silent. In the front of the room was the principal. Slowly, the class began to hum with the questions, however, that was hushed again by the adult clearing his throat. "The news has probably reached you, or will reach you, that Mr Kalahan found himself in an accident involving a heavy statue of Apollo at the museum yesterday." Some students laughed, but others glanced around confused. "Hospitalised, he has now retired." A rumble of talk erupted.

Scott found it an opportunity to talk to Stiles. Leaning across the desk, he whispered, "I went to Derek for help. I'm really trying to help." That'll get him talking, thought the werewolf.

Huffing, the human surrendered and spun to face his best friend. "If I were talking to you, I'd call you an idiot for trusting him. Derek's a psychopath." Turning back to the front, Stiles added, "But, obviously, I'm not talking to you."

Before Scott could revel in his success, the principal introduced the class to their new teacher. "Your replacement Ancient Histories teacher is called Mr Novak... Who seems to be late."

Spinning around, Stiles remarked, "Yeah, probably gonna turn up and recite Dead Poet's Society, or something." Turning back around, Stiles sighed shaking his head. "Man, I'd love that."

Before the final word left the boy's lips, a very tall, very messy man stumbled in. The guy looked more confused than Stiles on taco day. "I apologise for being late. My transport was... delayed. I had to walk."

"Through the woods?" Remarked Jackson, from the back of the class.

Nodding, Mr Novak shook the hand of the principal. "The route seemed the fastest. I did not account for all of the... dirt."  
It was generally accepted by the class that Mr Novak was going to be one of those trouble teachers. Sure, fun to be around, but not actually good at teaching. They spent the rest of the lesson introducing him into the topics they had been studying that semester. It left Scott and Stiles time to clear the air. They discussed Derek, and how he was going to teach Scott to "Harness his anger."

As the two boys headed down the hall, the human hit his friend's arm, "'Kay, I've got 'til the end of the school day to teach you myself. To become your Yoda."

"Yeah, but how?"

Shrugging, Stilesled the way into the canteen. Seating themselves down, Scott panicked and grabbed his textbook. "Dude, tell me if she spotted me."

Confused, his best friend turned to see Allison enthusiastically reading aloud to the wonderful Lydia, who Stiles could see was trying to act bored. He knew the truth. He knew she was a genius, and was probably storing all that information into her carefully managed head. Even if she wasn't, she had good reason after the DVD store business.

"Stiles?"

Pulling his attention away from the cherry-blonde, the boy shrugged. "Looks pretty distracted by that book. She can't see you, Scott, and that book doesn't make you invisible." Knowing that his friend wasn't going to listen to reason, Stiles pulled out a notebook and started jotting down plans.

Every now and then Scott would glance over the book to see how Stiles was doing. Bored with reading about the architecture of the Pantheon, he began researching Roman Insulae.

Before long, Lydia had left room, and Stiles became distracted, before commenting, again, on the giant book in front of his friend's face. The kid would make an awful spy. Luckily, Scott didn't have to be one to be a werewolf.

"You come up with a plan yet?" Asked the wolf, as he peered around his homemade barricade.

The things he did for Scott could fill a book. "I think so, yeah." He then took a giant bite from his apple.

"Does that mean you don't hate me now?"

"No, but your crap has infiltrated my life, so, now I have to do something about it. Plus, I'm a better Yoda than Derek." Conversation between the two of them then disintegrated into joking, before Stiles ran off with Scott's book.

Upon seeing her boyfriend, Allison attempted to get his attention, before Scott fled into the men's room. Feeling somewhat rejected, the girl decided to head to her Ancient Histories class early to ask her teacher about the report.

Slowly opening the door, she found a new, much younger, man sat at the desk Mr Kalahan usually resided in. Clearing her throat, Allison entered the room. "Mr Novak? I'm Allison Argent."

Turning his attention away from the book he was reading, Mr Novak smiled at his student. "Hello." His disjointed gruff voice startled the girl, who expected something softer, to match the man's puppy dog eyes. Curiosity filled them as he noticed the old tome Kate had given Allison.

Awkwardly standing beside Mr Novak, the student took a deep breath. "Do we still do the report on family connections to historical events?"

Nodding, the teacher shifted his chair out from under the desk, dressed in a... suit? The guy looked homeless. "Any tasks given to you by my predecessor must be handed in within the week." Castiel had no idea how he was going to grade them, though. He had been at every major historical event pre-Dean's conception, but not everyone knew what really went on.

Sighing, Allison smiled, before seating herself at the desk nearest her teacher's. "I was wondering if you knew anything on 'La Bete Du Gevaudan' that I could add to my report." It was a long shot, but it was the primary reason for meeting him before class.

With a frown, Castiel sifted through his memories (or the ones Naomi hadn't messed with). He had not been there himself, but he did recall Ithuriel assisting the humans on Michael's orders. He had exposed the creature to be a descendent of a wolf-like Nephilim.

But how to tell her that? Clearing his throat, Castiel prepared himself to tell her an 'ambiguous truth.' "Believed to be a descendent of the Nephilim Lnnia, sent by god himself to kill those who abandoned Catholicism." The man paused. How many evil acts had there been in the name of religion? Most of it was the same anyway. "This was proven untrue, in legend, though. As the man that killed the monster claimed his hand was guided by an angel, and was Jewish." Realising the confusion this caused, Castiel pursed his lips and frowned.

Slowly, Allison nodded, allowing this information to sink in. Nephilim... Judaic angels... All of these theories could be used in her report. Glancing down, she noticed all of her notes were very religious. "If it's not too personal, sir, what religion are you?"  
Taken aback, Castiel frowned and glanced down. As an angel, he never required another explanation, any categories of his faith. Was he Christian? He'd never even heard of Jesus until the Romans had apparently killed him. Was he Jewish? He knew God wasn't actively helping humanity, unless the Winchesters counted. Perhaps he was Enochian? That was the language of his people.

Shrugging, Castiel lightly smiled, "I know much of the Judeo-Christian theologies, but I am not an active member in any religious group." Perhaps that'd be a good enough explanation of his affiliation. It was true enough, because he lost it when he became human.

Still a little confused by her teacher's ambiguity, Allison decided it best to leave that as the answer, and not pry further. She didn't want to be seen as trouble by him; she wanted to keep this subject as her favourite.

Slowly, other students entered the room, Lydia amongst them. Seating herself down at the desk beside Allison, she looked quite taken aback by the messy attire of the new teacher, who was garbed in a disheveled suit and giant trench coat. Holding her tongue, she listened to her teacher's gravelly voice. There was something off about him. He seemed ethereal, but totally... human.

Leaning over to Lydia, Allison whispered, "Does Mr Novak seem off to you?"

Shaking from her thoughts, the red-haired girl regained her composure. "He looks homeless. Rough, ready and homeless." Then began to jot down notes.

Sighing, Allison pulled back to face Mr Novak, who was having trouble with the VHS machine.

Across, on the other side of the school, Scott was spending his free period being pelted with balls by Stiles, to monitor his heart rate. They didn't notice Jackson by the bleachers. They didn't notice him as Scott was hit in the gut. They didn't notice him as Scott began growling. They didn't notice him as Scott snapped his binds. They didn't notice him as Scott forced the beast back deep within him. But Jackson saw it all.

"I can't be near Allison." Resigned Scott, as he lay beaten upon the dirt.

Frowning, Stiles tilted his head. "Just because she makes you happy?"

"No, because she makes me weak." It was the harsh truth he had to accept. Derek was right, Allison was his Achilles heel.How could they beat the Alpha if he kept on being distracted by her? It was the honourable thing to do, forsaking his happiness for the greater good. But he was a teenager, Scott shouldn't have to be honourable. 

The two boys made their way back into the changing rooms, discussing how Scott had to avoid his girlfriend. If you asked Stiles' opinion, Scott was listening way too closely to Derek's words. "You know, this whole 'Women make you weak' thing is way too Spartan Warrior for me. It's probably just part of the learning process." His best friend didn't have to punish himself like this. Derek might, but he didn't.

Scott's day didn't get any better. Allison had managed to get close to him, taking Stiles' seat in economics. Furthering the stab, she explained that the two of them would see a lot more of each other as lab partners. Coach then decided to cut right into the werewolf, nearly making the boy go full-beast. It was only Allison's loving touch to his hand that calmed the waves of fury.

With all the deductive skills of Sherlock, Stiles pinned it down to one factor. Allison was the thing keeping Scott human. She was his anchor in a world full of hormonal angsty teenagerdom.  
And, thus, in one small day, realisation had struck Scott, not only did he love Allison Argent, but she was Betty Ross to his Hulk.

However, Stiles still had to teach Scott the art of control before Derek got his claws on him. So, the hyperactive human dragged the werewolf out to the parking lot. Okay, this plan was going to hurt Scott, but no pain no gain. A shining black truck was parked up, its owner and his friends standing beside it. Perfect.

Forcing Scott to hold his key up, Stiles scratched right along the truck's paint job. Grabbing the attention of the owner, the human found himself watching with bated breath as his friend was beaten to a pulp, the werewolf's heart rate rising, faster and faster.

Fighting the savage temptation to tear each of the men to shreds, Scott found himself thinking about Allison's voice. How she stood in the halls, long raven hair.

Before Scott knew it, a gruff voice cut through his imagination. Multiple silhouettes dispersed, revealing only one looming above him. "You should be more careful about who you make your enemy, Mr McCall."  
The new teacher extended a hand to assist the werewolf up. Stronger than Scott expected, he barely had to move a muscle before Mr Novak had raised him from the dirt. "Yeah, sorry, sir."

Mr Novak softly smiled, before another figure appeared behind him. "Ah, Mr Novak, I see you've met McCall and Stilinski. These are out resident trouble students." Mr Harris' venomous smile automatically told the boys what was coming up. "I'll take them to detention, you still have to talk to Mr Paulsen."

"Mr Harris, I'm afraid-"

"Please, I'll take this detention for you as a welcoming gift." Of course, Stiles thought, the world doesn't just let the most chill teacher find them making trouble. It's not that fair.

However, the detention did leave the two students to discuss their pent up feelings. How Stiles knew Scott would heal at a faster rate, and that the plan had partly been for revenge. Both figured that Mr Harris had been listening in, and allowed the out early due to them forgiving each other. So, detention wasn't all bad.

Growls filled the darkened veterinary practice as Deaton wrote up a medical record. Slowly, from within the shadows, a tall figure appeared. Derek Hale stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on the vet. He had come with questions regarding a deer found dead a few months ago, a spiral carved into its side. Unhappy with the lies the other man gave him, the werewolf attacked.  
Surrounded in darkness, Deaton found himself tugging on binds too tight around his wrists. "Are you protecting someone?"  
"Alright, the key to the drug locker is in my pocket."

Grabbing onto the vet, Derek snarled more questions and threats, even lifting him and the chair from the floor. The man had to have been working with the Alpha, there was no other reason for the lies. His sister was murdered, and the werewolf was going to find out who did it, if it was the last thing he did. The Alpha would pay, and if the truth had to be beaten out of the veterinarian, so be it.

However, before he could find the truth of whether Deaton was Laura's murderer, Scott burst in, arguing the man's corner. The teenager wasn't going to let his boss be killed by Derek. He was going to stop the deaths, not cause more.

Eventually, the younger werewolf managed to talk the older one down. He had a plan, he just hoped to God it would work.


	3. Chemistry

_"How are you gonna learn the meaning of humanity if you don't see a few stiffs?"_

Stood amongst the buses of the school parking lot, Castiel shivered. Temperature was one of the few things the ex-angel couldn't understand. Another was waiting. Sure, he had waited for Dean and Sam as an angel, but time seemed to run faster when immortal. Now Gabriel had him loitering outside the school in the dark for what seemed to be for two hours. How long did it take to lock up? His brother was still an Archangel, so he should just be able to click his fingers and it would be done.

Suddenly, two white lights appeared from the distance, making Castiel hide behind a bus. When he spotted Stilinski and McCall jump from the vehicle, and pull out chain cutters, the man knew, or thought he knew what they were doing. Sam and Dean had regularly done similar to break into derelict buildings on hunts. However, it was unlikely that these two were going to do "smoke" a monster, not unarmed.

Both boys seemed nervous, obviously unsure of whatever plan they were executing. Another car then rolled up behind them. The driver was not well-received, obviously an unwanted member of their group.

Castiel had never seen him before, but something dark resonated from him. Pain and fury. The man's demeanour demanded fear and suspicion. Perhaps these were really caused by the unconscious body in the back seat of his car.

Unaccustomed with human laws, Castiel was unsure of what to do. It was a sensible plan, he theorised, to stay as he was, and allow either Gabriel or another janitor to deal with this. Hanging back, he witnessed the two students break into the school. It was not a very professional operation, their loud argument echoing across the parking lot.

The adult of the group sat on his car hood, arms crossed. Shaking his head, the man seemed to be in the same mindset as Castiel: utterly confused and concerned about the boys' safety with that large sharp tool.

Tilting his head, Castiel frowned and attempted to get closer. Humans would call his emotion "curiosity," something he had rarely felt a need to act upon as an angel. With each step, the ex-angel became very aware of his footsteps. Even breathing was too loud for his liking.

Something behind Derek shifted. It was a short sound. Light. If it had not been for his wolf-like senses, he would never had noticed it. There was someone else in the lot. Their scent hit the air, too. Ginger and cane sugar. Their heartbeat was... Odd. It raced, but something was off.

Slowly turning his head, the werewolf attempted to spot the man. A shadow of moved near the windows of a bus. However, before he could get a look, a strange, very high and very loud noise pierced his eardrums. "You gotta be kidding me. Really?" Ashamed of his protégé's attempt of a howl, he prepared himself for another insult to his species. But it never came.

A giant howl shook the building and land around it. If that didn't get the Alpha's attention, nothing would.

Grinning, Stiles practically skipped through the exit. He knew Scott could tap into his 'dark side' without tearing his colon out and gnawing on it. Or hoped he could, at least. What an awful thing for his dad to have to deal with: "How did my son die?" "It seems his best friend is a were-beast with a taste for the digestive system. If Stiles had not died from blood-loss, he would never be able to poop again." Yep. Definitely a relief.

Scott was far less excited. His heart beat like a jack-rabbit with fear. From this point, he had no idea what to do. The Alpha was going to be here, and would probably kill them all. He and Derek were Betas and Stiles was, well, a Stiles. This was the worst idea he had ever had.

It seemed the more mature werewolf agreed. "I'm gonna kill both of you." The guy looked genuinely pissed. "What the hell was that? What are you trying to do, invite the entire state to the school?"

Just off, further into the parking lot, Castiel helped Deaton behind a bus. Pulling off his over coat, the ex-angel wrapped the vet in it. Concern crossed the ex-angel's face as he examined the other man, who was just about conscious. Something between them passed, a sense of recognition. Both heard it. Just a few metres away. The growls.

Derek froze.

The boys noticed Deaton was no longer in the car.

Suddenly, Derek's mouth spilled crimson, the Alpha's claws piercing through his back, lifting him high in the air. Searing pain filled the beta as he watched the teenagers flee the beast killing him. His limbs felt heavy and hotter than hell, sight filled with pure light. Then, everything fell into darkness.

Glancing over the hood of a bus, Castiel spotted a giant lycanthropic creature toss a limp, bloody, body aside. It landed with a heavy thud, and compelled the ex-angel to do something.

As the beast disappeared, pursuing the boys, Castiel crept over to the stranger's body, using the shadows as cover. Reaching it, the ex-angel checked for a pulse, shocked to find there was one. Hooking his arms through the man's, he struggled dragging him to where Deaton rested.

Noticing the teacher's struggle with Derek's body, Deaton moved to assist him. The two men managed to rest the werewolf upon Castiel's coat, and the vet attempted to staunch the bleeding. "Derek?" Deaton then turned to the ex-angel, "I have Derek, you must get Scott and Stiles out of there."

With a curt nod, the ex-angel headed for the school. One thing he hated, above all others, about being human, was the inability to heal. If he could help, in any way, he would. So, the man quickly made his way up to the entrance of the school.

However, for the third time that night, a set of headlights flashed past, stopping in the parking lot. "Why is Scott here? The school's locked at night." Remarked Lydia, leaning over her boyfriend to catch a glimpse of the dark building. Something about it tied her stomach into knots. It wasn't right seeing the school at night, that was certain, but breaking and entering didn't seem like something 'Safe Scott' would do, much less invite Allison to join in.

Glancing over, Jackson huffed. The place had all the hallmarks a Stilinski plan crossed with a lame horror movie. But something was up. Really up. "Not anymore." The chains locking the building had been sliced through.

Climbing out, Allison thanked her friends and started towards the building. The place creeped her out, sure, but she wasn't going to let that deter her. As her parents had always said, "Argent women are stronger than all others; they will sacrifice everything for their beliefs." And she believed following Scott into a dark building was the right thing to do. He had never done her wrong.

Following the girl, the male of the trio caught her arm, "Allison-"

"You're about to tell me to 'Be careful.'"

Watching from afar, Castiel was unsure of what to do. Should he tell the children to leave? From the few examples of children he had seen, the ex-angel knew they would neither listen to, or believe, him. Humans were so blind to the truth of monsters, he wondered how they had survived this long.

Suddenly, there was a crash in the distance, crimson eyes aimed right at Castiel. As it charged towards him, the ex-angel dove out of the way. Rolling past the creature, he jumped up and led it away. Delaying it would at least allow the humans - the others - to succumb to common sense.

Stuck in the changing rooms, Scott and Stiles tried to gather themselves. The Alpha was gone, distracted by something they weren't going to question. This was too much. Completely unbelievable. Only earlier, Stiles had been choosing what to cook for dinner, now it seemed he wouldn't be eating it. This was not his day.

Opposite him, the teen werewolf was breathing slowly, trying to keep his cool. He had just killed Derek, and soon it would be Stiles. It was all his fault. He had been the one to call the big bad here, and now it was gonna eat his best pal. The room smelt like teenage boys' sweat and sorrow, which may've worked in their advantage, had it not been for the fact that they were arguing again.

"Oh man, I'm too pretty for God to let me die." Behind the joke lay bona fide fear, the thump of Stiles' heart echoing through Scott's head.

Rattling of metal rang through the room. The boys were not alone. Panicking, the boys found themselves crammed into lockers that smelt like pee.

Each footstep of their company was slow, certain. Whatever it was was heavy. However, Scott found himself smelling Axe, not fury or savage determination.

Crashing into a locked door, Castiel broke it off of its hinges, and landed in a heap. Tasting copper, the ex-angel lay facing the beast as it slowly stepped towards him. Teeth bared, the alpha charged for the attack. Rolling out of the way, Castiel slid behind a desk.

Heart racing, breath heavy, the ex-angel went to pull out his angel blade. Unable to find it, the man remembered that he had left it in his trench coat, with the other men. Rolling his eyes, the man attempted to reach the door, before being tosses into the wall. A crunch of bones echoed through the empty classroom.

Lifting Castiel from the floor, the monster growled, rage and bloodlust filling the air between them. Still attuned to the other plane, the ex-angel found something else, he just couldn't put his finger on it. Unable to breathe, he showed no fear, even as the beast bared its giant teeth. If he died, the Winchesters would know. They would come looking for him... Wouldn't they?  
Suddenly, the man realised how alone he was. Leaning in, the beast snarled and its warm breath ghosted against his throat.

Fear finally grew in the pit of his gut. Clenching his eyes tight, Castiel tried to imagine himself away. Back in heaven, in that eternal tuesday. Or perhaps with John and Mary. They had always been hospitable, kind, even when their sons had not been.

However, the only place he really wanted to be was home, with Dean. 

As the monster's teeth brushed against the pale flesh of Castiel's neck, the werewolf stopped. Dropping the man in a heap, the thing charged out of the room. Groaning, the human rolled onto his front and clambered up. Near death wasn't as kind as it used to be.

Allison's footsteps echoed through the dark. Something was very wrong. In the distance, a giant shadow darted across her eye line. Terrified, she knew she should leave, run. But curiosity gripped her hand and led her into the ruined classroom it had emerged from.

Through the darkness, the girl could hear shuddering breaths. Groans of agony. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed someone doubled over. Slowly approaching it, she recognised it. "Mr Novak?" 

Startled, the teacher threw himself in the other direction. Facing the girl, he looked as if he had seen a monster. 

"It's okay, it's gone." Whatever 'it' was.

Violently shaking his head, Castiel grabbed the girl's arms and began to drag her out. "You need to leave. Now."

Tugging her arm away, Allison refused to leave without Scott. If he was in here with the murderer then she could never live with herself if he died. 

Running away from an evil werewolf was not how Stiles planned his evening. Watching janitors get mauled to death was not how he had planned his life.

"Call him." Ordered the teacher, his gruff voice making the girl panic more than it should've.

It took only a minute for Allison to get off of the cell to her boyfriend, and five to reach him in person.

Jackson and Lydia appeared a few minutes later, having entered when they found Stiles' Jeep wrecked.

Unsure of what to do, the group stood. Scott knew this was his fault. His stupid plan was going to kill five humans. It was at that moment he regretted not listening to Derek. Derek who he also got killed. Holding onto Allison's arm, he asked her why she was here.

"You text me, telling me to come meet you here." The confusion filling the girl was growing into another lapse of terror. Her boyfriend looked just as bewildered. Oh god.

In the brief moment of silence, Jackson glanced over to Mr Novak, who was busy with Stiles blocking the doors into the trophy room. "What's a teacher doing here at night?"

"I'm waiting for my brother. He's a janitor here."

Scott and Stiles glanced at each other. Maybe there's more than one, thought the two of them. If so, though, that meant more targets for the Alpha. "

This room is not defensible enough." Remarked the teacher as he scanned the room. Blocking a few doors may slow the monster down, but not for long. 

As if he had jinxed them, a giant form smashed into the door, attempting to break through. Hearts racing, the group fled through to the back of the building. As tempting as it was, neither Castiel nor Scott stayed back to fight the beast. It could've bought the others time, but not enough to save them.

After moving from room to room, they finally set up position in a chemistry class. In a panicked excuse, Scott blamed Derek for the murders, claiming he was the thing chasing them. However, when he said the words, "It's Derek, it's all been Derek."

He could smell anger resonate from someone. The same person whose heart beat twice as fast as a human's. Mr Novak knew he was lying, and didn't like it, at all.

Holding his tongue, Castiel was sure the boy had a good reason to lie, no matter how hard the ex-angel fought the urge to tell the children the truth. Heading to the door, the teacher readied himself to leave. He had to find Gabriel, the Archangel could save them.

"Whoa! Where're you going?" Whispered Scott, blocking the teacher from the exit.

Frowning, Castiel squinted, "To find my brother."

"Ha ha, no, you're not. Or are you forgetting the giant mon- murderer out there who likes to tear people into iddi biddy bits." Retorted Stiles, who dragged the older man away from the door. 

"He can help." 

Huffing, Lydia pushed herself up from her seat on a desk. "How? Does he often wrangle rabid murderers?" She had seen whatever killed the man at the video store, it wasn't something to be messed with.

"Do you have a better idea, Miss Martin?" The ex-angel snapped. He would only allow that kind of attitude from family. These children didn't understand, Gabriel was the only one who could help. Castiel was currently 'Out of Action,' as Dean had so charmingly put it. If the lycanthropic creature was out there still, which was highly likely, it would be impossible for a group of humans to escape. They were cornered and their throats exposed.

Noticing something from the corner of his eye, Scott had an idea. "That door leads to the roof."

"Yeah, but it's deadbolt, genius." Remarked Jackson. He was tired of McCall's crap. They were gonna die at the hands of the creepy monster, Derek Hale, all because Scott and his girlfriend, Stiles, decided to go on a midnight sojourn to school.

Huffing, Scott reasoned with the group that he could go out there and get the key from the janitor's body. The body he and Stiles had failed to mention to the rest of the group. "Oh my God." Whimpered Allison as she turned to her teacher. "Your brother... Was..."

Shaking his head, Castiel pursed his lips. "It won't be him."

"How do you know that?" 

Squinting, the older man shook his head before asking Scott about his plan. It wasn't the most foolish plan he had heard: to go get the keys from the dead janitor and get to the roof. Though, he did have to admit, when Dean and Sam did suicide missions, they ended up in Hell. 

With Lydia's guidance, the group made a self-igniting Molotov Cocktail. However, something felt wrong. 

Clasping hold of her boyfriend's hands, Allison couldn't fight back the tears. "Please, please don't go out there, Scott." It hurt her that he was so willing to throw his life away. If he died for them, she would never forgive herself.

Watching the scene of Scott leaving, Stiles knew he would either die or kill the Alpha. Dying was the most likely option, though. The giant werewolf had sliced through Derek like butter. Stiles usually hated frozen butter, always tearing up the bread as he tried to spread it.

Glancing beside him, he noticed his teacher gazing into the distance. "Looks like we're the only ones without girlfriends. Wanna hug?" The boy joked, arms extended, ready. 

Frowning, Castiel slowly turned his head to the strange child. "No." Was this boy normal by human standards? The ex-angel knew Dean and Sam hugged only in moments of heightened emotion, but they were not considered 'average' by any standard.

"Kay." Was all Stiles could say, Mr Novak not getting a joke was not really that normal. All teachers get his jokes, regardless of finding them funny or not. 

Scott had left the five of them in a dark, quiet and odorous room. It smelt like rotten eggs. Seating himself at the teacher's desk, Jackson grabbed a sticky note and began to scribble things on it. Not much, just little sketches of things that had happened that night. He drew himself, Lydia, Allison, even Scott and Stiles, each on a little note of their own. Maybe the sickness in him was causing this, it wasn't fear. It wasn't. He drew his car, Stile's junk heap too. Half way through sketching Mr Novak, he realised how annoying Allison's pacing was getting.

"These are good likenesses to their subjects." Rumbled a gravelly voice from over Jackson's shoulder. Castiel was slightly impressed by the proportions and attention to detail. With practice, the boy could probably be considered talented. Something resonated from his student. A sickness.

Gathering the pieces up, Jackson tossed them in the waste paper basket. "Mind your damn own business. Uh..." The teenager had difficulty remembering the fact his teacher could influence his grades. However, this one just stared apologetically instead of chastising him. The guy would be no good in military situations, Jackson reasoned.

The sudden outburst from the boy reminded the ex-angel of Dean, which forced him to turn away. Suddenly, there was a scream, a yell. Someone was out there and needed help. Running to the door, Castiel forced Stiles away. "I'm going out there. Bar the door until either Scott or I return." Before Stiles could argue, the teacher gripped the front of his shirt, "That is an order." 

Mr Novak could not be reasoned with as he left. The stern and determined gaze reminded Stiles of his father after finding out his mother had died. Heart sinking with the memory, the boy froze, allowing his teacher to leave. 

Raising her eyebrows, Lydia glanced through the door window, seeing nothing but shadows. "What was that?"

"Maybe he heard something we didn't." Reasoned Allison, brow furrowed. People around here were strange, that was for certain. 

Through the dark halls, Castiel found himself shallowing his breath. A force was dragging him towards, what he believed, was the gym. As he reached the large, dark, hall, a familiar stench hit him. The further he stepped into the room, the stronger the odour.

Soon, his shoes began to stick to the floor, making a sucking noise with each step. The burning scent of copper filled his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the ex-angel realised he was stood beside the limp corpse of the janitor. 

Crouching beside him, Castiel checked for a pulse, already knowing what he'd find. Nothing. 

Suddenly, a cold bluster of wind, and the billow of wings, surrounded him. "Hey lil' bro." Smugly, Gabriel was chewing on a Twizzler in a similar outfit as the corpse. "In the name of our father... I'm gonna have a hard time mopping this mess up." Joked the Archangel, who knew he didn't even need to. 

"Gabriel. There is a monster here-"

"There sure is Cassie. Bought here by his puppy. Ain't it sweet?"

Huffing, Castiel struggled to keep composure. People were dead. "If you won't 'smoke' him, help us get out." 

Shaking his head, Gabriel shrugged, "No can do, man. This is my get out. How are you gonna learn the meaning of humanity if you don't see a few stiffs?" Raising one eyebrow, the Archangel waited for an answer. 

Sighing, Castiel looked the the ceiling. Angels are dicks, Dean was right. "I don't want to be human."

"But you didn't wanna be an angel either. Go figure." 

Growls grew from the shadows. "Please. They're children." The ex-angel's giant blue eyes shimmered with fear. 

Again, his brother shrugged. "What happens happens. They'll be okay, s'long you don't screw things up like with the Winchesters." Then he was gone.

Growing louder, the growls approached. Frozen in place, Castiel found himself unable to move, the breath of the monster hot down the back of his neck. Unarmed, he knew death was imminent. 

Stood in silence, Lydia turned to the desk with the chemicals. "Jackson, you did give me the sulphuric acid, it won't ignite if it's not." 

"I gave you exactly what you asked for, didn't I?" Bit back the man. 

Taken aback, Lydia quietly said he must've.

Instead of hearing the crunch of his own bones, Castiel was tossed onto the blood-soaked floor. Rolling over, the ex-angel -human, if you will- witnessed the suddenly there, Scott, toss the molotov at the beast. Nothing happened. 

"Oh, dammit." Groaned the boy, before turning to run. Grabbed by the ankles, he crashed to the floor. Slid through the blood, the boy flipped over, to see the Alpha gripping his throat. 

The monster then released a piercing and inhuman noise. In the chemistry room, the teenagers all attempted to block the sound with their fingers. However, for Jackson, this was not enough. The sickness flowing through his blood amplified it, making it feel as if his brain was bleeding. 

Then the beast was gone.

Scott began to fill with rage. Fury. Bloodlust. Before he knew it, he was staring at Mr Novak like a steak. A juicy, blood-filled steak, hot and ready for the eating. 

Clambering up, Castiel's heart thudded against its cage. Without his powers he wouldn't be able to do anything against a ravenous werewolf. Not without silver. Or his blade. How he wished he hadn't left it in his coat. "Please, Scott, you're not a monster." Holding his hands up, the man backed away, slowly. 

Fighting with all his heart, Scott struggled to contain the beast. He didn't want this, to kill. That was the Alpha's wish, to make another murderer. 

Reaching the far wall, Castiel noticed a firefighter's axe on the wall beside him. Child or not; in control or not, the man had to do something. Smashing the case of the weapon, the ex-angel pulled it on the werewolf. "Scott..."

Unable to control himself, the werewolf tried to resist, but the fast beat of Mr Novak's racing heart was overwhelming, compared to the fear of beheading. Snarling, the boy forced himself to run in the opposite direction. The ability to resist had gone as soon as he had left the gym, and he found himself stalking the dark halls, slowly dragging his claws across the wall.

It was as if he was possessed, unable to control himself, and made his way to the occupied chemistry classroom. Sight tinted red, he wanted nothing more to tear them apart. from the teenagers. Stood by the door, he listened to their hearts. Each of them beat in different times, a beautiful rhythm he wanted to watch their life drain away."Where's Scott? He should be back by now." He could be dead for all Allison knew, and that pierced her heart. There was no way she could keep the pain from reaching her voice, as it cracked. Tears lined her eyes, yet she tried to maintain a strong facade, the others needed it. She needed it. 

A soft, fearful voice surrounded Scott, it reached a depth in him he didn't know he even had. It was like a revelation, all he could see was her. Allison's raven hair and chocolate eyes. All he wanted to do was keep her safe. 

Locking the door, he forced himself away. There was no way he'd kill her. He could hear her screams as she beat against the door. She knew he was there, he hoped she'd forgive him, but he knew abandoning them was for the best. In this state, he was weak to bloodlust. 

Limping his way out of the gym, Castiel dragged the axe behind him. As soon as he heard the dim echo of sirens, the ex-angel rushed to the chemistry room. Locked, the man found himself ordering the teenagers to stand back before hacking the door off its hinges. 

It was a relieving sight when Mr Novak axed his way in to the class. However, all Stiles could think about was how much blood was soaking his teacher's torn suit. "Wow, dude, Mr Novak... You look..."

"Like an axe murderer. That's real comforting." Interrupted Jackson, as he made a point of avoiding touching the man as he stepped past. 

"Are you children alright?

Frowning back tears, Allison nodded silently before she and Lydia made their way out. Never had the flash of blue lights comforted her more.

Stopping before his teacher, Stiles stared into his eyes. "You know?" The sharp nod in return caused the boy to purse his lips. "Does that mean you're gonna give us better grades?" The boy joked.

"No." Castiel didn't understand this boy. His friend was a reluctant monster, and he was joking about something so inane as school.

Nodding in reluctant agreement, Stiles shrugged. "Eh, fair enough. Dude, you so look like Jack Torrance with all that blood and axe and..." Mr Novak's displeased frown made the boy stop his train of thought and head out. He didn't want to make things worse for the guy. 

As the two of them followed the other three from a distance, Stiles noticed something from the corner of his eye. "Scott?" His best friend was a sight for sore eyes, covered in blood and sweat, but human. 

With a silent nod, the werewolf apologised to him and Mr Novak. "Sorry, for, y'know, trying to kill you Mr. N. And locking you in Stiles." 

Each of the survivors went through rigorous questioning by the police. Stiles and Scott both lied about Derek being the killer to Sheriff Stilinski. It felt wrong lying to his dad about something so big, but it was better than saying, "Oh yeah, the mass murderer is actually an unknown Alpha werewolf who's trying to recruit Scott into his killer pack. No biggie." 

Passing Castiel back his blood soaked coat, Deaton thanked him from the back of the ambulance. "You're different..."

"Castiel." 

"Castiel, you saved my life. My name's Alan Deaton." The vet smiled at the man, a sense of shared secrecy surrounding them. 

Gabriel was talking to an officer when Cas approached him. "Hey lil' bro." A smug grin crossed his face, as if nothing had happened. The Archangel had some gall. 

With a deep frown on his face, the ex-angel gripped his brother's shirt. "You left us to die..."

"Whoa there cowboy. Don't go breaking the merchandise." Smirking, the shorter man tilted his head. "Oh yeah, you can't. Which also means that you can't see all the variable and destiny crap that's floating around. And they ain't dead, so it's Gabe: One Cassie: Nil." Shrugging out of his brother's loosening grip, the Archangel jumped into his bright green Barracuda and saluted, before speeding off. 

Climbing into her father's car, Allison fought back tears. Giving Scott distance was the best option, she knew it in her head, but her heart screamed to forgive him. "You okay sweetie?" Asked her father, a gentle frown upon his face. Physically, yeah, she was fine, but he didn't know how betrayed she felt. How heartbroken, and exhausted. Today had been an emotional roller coaster, and she just wanted to go to bed. 

Feeling sick, Jackson had his father wiggle him out of intense questioning. He was so having a shower and going to sleep early when he got home. Scratch that, he'd get a drink of water first, and then take a bowl when he went to bed.

"I don't know about Derek Hale being the murderer..." Castiel glanced over to Scott, who gave him a nervous, pleading expression. Sighing, the ex-angel pursed his lips and tilted his head. "But whoever did this would've killed us all, had Scott not distracted it." That was the truth, for the most part, but he wasn't as good as Sam, who employed the 'Puppy Eyes' with it. 

Very confused by this whole situation, Sheriff slowly nodded. Why was everyone being so obscure? "What did you see?"  
Swallowing, Castiel glanced to the sky. "It was... dark. I..." The truth would have him locked away again, and this time he wouldn't have Meg as company. "... Couldn't see clearly. Then I became distracted by the uncon- Alan. I went in after, when I realised the monster was going to kill the children."

Taken aback, Sheriff frowned. The word 'Monster' struck something in him, as if it wasn't just an insult. "Okay, thank you for your time Mr Novak. You can go now." 

As Castiel turned to leave, a dark-haired woman appeared. "Excuse me, are you Mr Novak?" After receiving a nod, the woman continued, "Thank you for looking out for Scott, my son."

Climbing into his mother's car, Scott noticed she had begun to make conversation with Mr Novak. 

"I'm Melissa, by the way." 

"Hello Melissa, I am Castiel." 

Failing to hold in a tiny giggle, Melissa put her hand up. "I'm sorry... Sorry. It's not funny. But it just sounds like the guardian angel." She then proceeded to make light conversation with the tired and blood-soaked man.

After several minutes, Castiel bid Melissa goodbye. He gave her a small smile before walking home. After having an awful evening, seeing the good side of humanity made him remember why he fell in the first place. 

As he reached his motel room, Castiel could already hear Gabriel wreaking havoc. Opening the door, a baseball shot past his head. Frowning, he decided to ignore it, shower and go to bed. 

There was no trouble getting to sleep, even his brother's singing couldn't stop him dropping off. With the day Castiel had had, he really couldn't keep his eyes open.


	4. Astaroth

_"Only an idiot would say no to Dean Winchester."_

The Impala's purr melted into the thudding of the rain as the trio drove through an old warehouse district in Michigan. Crowley was complaining, again, about being stuck in the back seat. "If you don't like it, smoke yourself back to Hell." Snapped Dean, who glared at the soulful demon through the rear-view mirror.

Huffing, Crowley scowled, "Never again. Not only is that place full of evil and cruelty, but Abaddon, the sour bitch, has converted almost half of my 'best' men." He had earned his place on that throne through evil, so he wasn't that upset he was losing it. What he was upset about was that he had a bounty on his head to the tune of 7.094 billion souls. Even with his powers and knowledge of magic, he would be useless. He had morals now, and that meant he wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done.

Sighing, Sam threw a candy bar back to the demon. Stuck in the car between Dean and the devil for three hours was grinding on him. This hunt was supposed to be relaxing, breaking him back in slowly. But with how he was feeling, Sam wasn't even sure he would've been able to handle a salt 'n' burn, let alone a demon. Coughing into his tissue, the man rolled opened the window, allowing the freezing rain to cool his feverish face.

Concerned, Dean glanced over, "You 'kay Sammy?" Hearing a grunt, the man offered to drop his brother off at a motel.

"I'll be fine, just need a bit of air." The light smile he passed Dean didn't fool his brother, and he knew it. What he really needed was time. His soul was broken. Torn into tiny pieces.

Sammy wasn't okay, Dean knew it. He had known it for a very long time, but he was a very stubborn baby brother. If he wanted something bad enough, he would find a way. That's how he was still on the hunt with them. Even though Dean knew Sam was too weak for this, he had been convinced this was the right thing to do. You know what they say about falling off the wagon.

Finally reaching their destination, Baby rumbled to a halt. "Crowley, you stay here, watch the entrance. Sam, you ready?" A low level demon wasn't as easy a hunt as Dean wanted for his brother, but it was the lowest scale thing he could find. Anyway, exorcisms made Sam feel special, Dean could never really get used to, or fully memorise, ancient languages.

Climbing out, Sam's legs felt weak. Burning whirled around his gut. Clearing his throat, he followed Dean to the trunk and gathered the shotguns and flask.

Sheathing Ruby's knife, Dean could see his little brother's struggle to stand. "You sure you're okay? I don't want to have to haul your heavy ass out of there." A slight smirk crossed his face, as he tried to hide his true concern.

Shaking his head, Sam cocked his gun. "Never better. Let's go." He was genuinely excited, in pain or not. This was their first hunt since the angels had fallen, and he was ready. He just wished Cas was here.

Flashing a grin, Dean slammed the trunk. "Let's go gettum, then!" As he passed the window, he mouthed 'Behave' to the King of Hell.

Just like the good ol' days, the duo made their way into an abandoned warehouse to exorcise a basic demon. Dripping echoed in the distance as the two slowly made their way through the decrepit building. Rats rustled around through empty crates and tarp. The scent of rotting wood and damp dust burned the mens' nostrils. This was the life.

Signalling to split up, Dean went left and traced the edge of the room. They weren't stupid, going through the maze of shelves could get them crushed or flanked or lost. He hated mazes. They usually had a big ass demon right in the middle, ready to cut off your flesh and wear it to your funeral. The thought made the hunter shiver. So not cool.

On the other side of the giant room, Sam made his way, anti-clockwise, towards the far wall. Something was off. Low-level demons usually attacked by now, unless under orders to hold back.

As the brothers met up at the other end of the main room of the warehouse, they exchanged concerned looks. Spotting the shut door beside them, they knew what to do. Pinning himself against the wall, Sam gave Dean the nod.

Without hesitation, the older brother kicked the door off its hinges, and rushed through, Sam in pursuit. The room was what must've been the staffroom at one point, with overturned tables and vending machines. Stopping, the two of them set eyes upon the demon. "Dude, you look like Mr Fantastic."

Frowning, the demon looked down towards himself, "Quite right, this meat is quite... fantastic. Nice suits." The English accent reminded the brothers of another demon who liked good tailoring. "His wife was too, but... Well, you know how things go." The creature pulled up a chair and gestured to the men to follow suit.

Wary, Sam glanced at his brother, who kept his gun trained on the demon. Sitting seemed very appealing at that moment, his whole body ached. "You're the one who killed those priests in Kansas and..."

"Missouri, Illinois, Indiana and, then, here. Yes." It seemed non-plussed with its achievements. "It wasn't ideal, very bloody, but it did the job." Smirking, the creature shrugged.

Getting more enraged, Dean started moving his hand to his side. "And what was that? Killing priests often makes people go demon-side, does it?" This demon was a higher level than they had assumed.

Sighing, the half-smile dropped from the demon's face. "You really think I'm here on a smear campaign? Please, I'm a... scientist, normally." This caused Sam's frown to deepen, and Dean's hand slide over the knife handle. "I did it because I knew you two would follow."

Slowly unsheathing the blade, Dean took a step forward. "You could've just called." Diving at the demon, the tried to pin it down for Sam to exorcise.

Flicking his hand left, the monster forced the hunter against the wall, without even standing. Turning to Sam, it gave him a look of, 'try it' but the man didn't take the bait and lowered his weapon to show good faith, the irony. "I want to make a deal with you." Calmly stated the demon, as he lessened his telepathic grip on Dean. "You have my King and I have a secret about the angels."

"We don't make deals with demons." Team Free Will had already done that, and it always bit them on the ass. And Dean really didn't want to be handing the King of Hell back to his minions, soul or not. All he wanted to do was exorcise the thing.

Huffing, the demon crossed his legs, "My deal is a good one. I really do advise you take it, Dean. It directly affects your family, something I know you don't have much of." With all of his attention trained on the older brother, he had forgotten Sam. Hitting the floor, the demon yelled in agony.

Barrel still smoking, Sam loomed over the writhing monster. "He said, 'we don't do deals with demons.'"

As the demon recovered, Dean grabbed it by the tie, knife aloft. All desire to send it back to Hell was gone. Dean just wanted it dead. "Listen up, you son of a bitch, I got a better deal. You tell us what those dicks are up to, or I slice you a new hole." The older brother, noticed something switch in the demon's eyes, as if it really had been a protocol deal before.

"Do it, you bastard, but never see your beloved man-angel again." Something pure evil was rising up from the monster, as if Dean's proximity, alone, tainted him.

Lips quivering into a snarl, Dean slammed the demon's head into the concrete floor. Again and again. "Tell me what you know, or so help me..." Without finishing the sentence, he pressed the tip of the blade beneath the devil's chin. Cas chose to run, that cowardly SOB. He caused all this crap, and left Dean to clean it up. A hole began to fill his gut. He needed a drink.

Suddenly, Sam's phone began ringing. "Dammit." Answering, the tall hunter never kept his eyes off of his brother and the demon, who were stuck in a staring contest. "Here, it's Crowley." Turning the phone over to the demon, the giant hunter switched it to loudspeaker.

"Astaroth, you never do fail me. Tell the boys what you know, and I'll join you downstairs." Crackled the rough London accent through the cell.

Climbing up, off of the demon, Dean slowly stepped back.

Glancing up to the hunters, Astaroth saw their smug faces looming over him. Supporting himself with the chair, the demon pulled himself up. "They're saying, 'Noqol ol oadriax gemeganza loncho od oiad l-o ol darbs gemeganza mtif lit oiad cnila ol oiad ds as ol olora.'"

One eyebrow raised, Sam turned to his brother, who returned the confused expression. It reminded the giant of Cas' sleep-talking, "Enochian?" The sound of that language made him feel uncomfortable, like he wasn't worthy of it. Maybe that was just another lapse of nausea from his illness.

Frowning, Dean shifted awkwardly, and kept his eyes to the floor.

"Well done Astaroth, you are a very loyal follower." Suddenly, there was a wet slicing and an electrical buzz. "But you are predictable." Crowley sheathed the angel-blade, passing Moose a light smile, which caused the hunter to feel slightly sicker than normal.

Huffing, Dean gathered up the limp body and took it into an emptier room of the warehouse. How many people died for that crappy piece of intel? Covering the man in lighter fluid, he lit him up.

The sizzle of flesh, made Sam's gut churn, forcing him to run from the warehouse into the pouring rain. Like a desperate puppy looking for approval, Crowley followed.

By the time Dean had cleared up the mess, the sun was already rising, and rain slowed. Slipping into Baby, the he turned to Sam, who was napping in shotgun seat, and Crowley, who was reading what seemed to be a journal. Since joining the Winchesters, the King of Hell had begun to adopt the hunter/Men of Letters role, whether it suited him or not.

Turning his attention forwards, Dean started to drive. "I told you to stay in the car."

"Huh?" Crowley glanced up from his book. "You're upset with me?"

"Hell yeah, I am. You went against my expressed orders. I told you back home that me and Sam were gonna interrogate the thing, then exorcise it." Gripping onto the wheel tighter, the driver's knuckles whitened.

Huffing, slamming his journal, the King of Hell looked hurt. "I'm sorry, but weren't you the one lunging towards him with a demon killing knife? And why, because he insulted your boyfriend?"

Slamming his foot on the break, Dean spun around and gripped the demon by the lapels, nearly pulling him to the front of the Impala. "Shut your cakehole, you sulphur sucking son-"

"Dean!" Pulling his brother away from the demon, Sam struggled to breathe.

"Go on, kill me its no more than I deserve." Cried the demon.

Pushing the demon back, Sam tried to calm them down. "Shut up Crowley. Dean, what the hell has gotten into you?"

Practically growling, the older hunter began to drive again. He was just stressed, caring for Sam, babysitting Crowley, angels and demons massacring innocents. All Dean wanted to do was get to the motel, drink, shower and sleep. Sometimes he wished baths were an option, but who knew what disease the last guy to use it had.

The ride was near-silent, except for the random Enochian word Crowley was translating. "Noqol... Noqol. Ministers? Servants!" To Dean, it became irritating that the guy seemed to know the language fluently, but still got so excited by translating a mis-pronounced sentence. Every time he discovered the word, he would animatedly jot down his notes.

To Sam, it was kind of comforting to hear the demon act like an excited student, and for Dean to stop bullying him. Sam found himself being rocked to sleep by the Impala as it trundled through the rain.

Glancing over to the sleeping man, a soft smile crossed Dean's lips. Colour was coming back to his baby brother's cheeks with each day, but they weren't gonna forget he was still sick. But it was great to think that, maybe, they could get back to normal. Sure, they'd still have to fight demons and face angels every other day, but neither were looking at eternity alone. Not like Cas.

Swallowing back the thought of the betrayal, Dean tightened his grip on the leather wheel. Sure, he could understand why the guy wanted to leave, it was Dean's thing. Everyone leaves him in the end, Cas did it more than anyone, so this was an everyday thing. However, now Castiel was on Heaven's hit-list and graceless, there was no telling what could happen to him.

Startling the hunter, a gruff London accent broke through the silence. "And 'Loncho' means fall. Fantastic." But it wasn't fantastic, and the demon knew it. Something was wrong with this. The translation was near-perfect, and half-finished, but the message that was appearing filled Crowley with an undying concern. Why would Astaroth, a Prince of Hell and leader of research and development, have angel intel? Unless... "Bloody hell!"

"What?" Bit Dean, who was still reeling from the first interruption.

Leaning across the front seat, Crowley, told the man to put his foot on the gas. "We can't talk here, we don't know who's listening." At least at the motel, the demon could put warding up, Dean would never let him paint he car with blood.

Swerving off the freeway into the parking lot of the Capri motel, the Impala growled to a halt. "Wake Sam up, I'll get the room." Ordered the hunter as he exited the car. Jogging through the rain, Dean entered the reception, where he met a particularly stunning young blonde behind the desk. "Hey... Jen." Giving his most convincing grin, Dean read her name tag.

Setting her eyes on the handsome young man, Jen found herself beaming a smile. "Hello, sir, how may I help you?"

A few things came to mind, but Dean wasn't gonna go there. "Is there a room that can sleep three?"

Nodding, Jen flicked through the room sheet. "There is a room that has two queens and a futon. Will that be okay for you?" Glancing outside, eyes following Dean's, the woman spotted a short man in a suit wrestle a giant out of the passenger seat of a classic car. The scene caused her to raise an eyebrow, but brushed it off immediately once she saw Dean's dazzling smile.

Leaning over the counter, the hunter smirked, "Family, what can ya do?" Slightly biting his lip, the young man pulled away. "How much for a night?"

Heart racing from the handsome man's proximity, Jen asked him for eighty-five dollars, and handed over the key. However, as the young man placed the notes in her hand, she leant forwards, "If it gets too crowded in there, I'm in the apartment next door."

God he wanted to. She smelt like sweet, like peaches and freesia. Her long golden curls hung down by her hips. It pained him to turn her down, but he was, technically, still hunting. He wouldn't let himself think of the other reason.

Outside, Crowley was still struggling to support the half-asleep moose. Rainwater was sloshing around in his shoes, and he was losing patience with the shiny-faced child that was ordering him around. As soon as he could see Dean leave the reception, the King of Hell dragged Sam over to him, and snatched the key away. "You get the bags, I've got moose."

Dazed, Sam swore he hadn't been asleep for more than a minute, but now he found himself engulfed by a big fluffy towel, laying on a bed. Bright orange light tinted the room around as he scanned it. The garish feature wall was so completely covered with blood sigils Sam had difficulty making out the giant 'Hollywood' on it.

The light groan of pipes and sound of running water indicated Dean was in the shower, which left Crowley. Wiping his eyes of grime, the giant hunter spotted the demon reclined on the other bed. "Wakey wakey sleeping beauty. Want some tea?" The short man swung his legs off of the bed and started fiddling with the kettle. "It'll clear you right up."

Taken aback by the friendliness, Sam groaned and flopped the towel on the side table. "Uh, thanks." Sitting up, the hunter copied the demon, to face it. Taking the hot, milky drink, Sam took a sip before wincing and placing it by the towel. "Got anything on that translation yet?"

Smirking, Crowley pulled out his journal. "Fully translated in accordance with the Oxford English Dictionary, my dear Moose." Flicking open the magnetic buckle, he turned to the page he had been working on for the past hour. Maybe the intelligent brother could make an educated guess about its meaning. "Astaroth said, 'Servants of Heaven will fall, and the first to die will visit with the blood of he who was made man.'" Looking back up, Crowley could see through the frown on the other man's face, his cogs turning.

Frown deepening, Sam glanced off into the distance. Were the angels planning on bringing someone back? 'The first to die'... First of what? "The angels have already fallen, so that leaves the resurrection."

"Exactly, but that's not what's worrying me." Sure, that riddle was a big deal on earth, but what was happening down under was the height of all crap.

"What is?"

"Hell's got hold of an angel."

"Okay..." The doubt in the giant's voice made Crowley's insides crumble. No matter what he did they'd never believe him outright.

Yet, the King of Hell persisted. "They're torturing it, and if they fully break it, they'll make an Archdemon."

"How do you-"

"How do you think they got that intel? Angels don't just give up stuff like that." He knew, he had 'worked' with Naomi, the angel-torturer. Heck, she was the one that taught him how to make the oversized birds talk. If anything, she was the reason he managed to break Samandriel.

Stepping out of the shower, Dean wiped away the condensation on the mirror. Brushing his teeth, he never left eye contact with his reflection. Crowley had told him the translation, and it terrified him. Rinsing his mouth, the hunter proceeded to get dressed into a t-shirt and sweats.

With a click of the bathroom door, steam drifted out, revealing a, now clean, Dean, his hair dark and flat with the wetness. "You told him, then?" Grabbing Sam's tea, the older hunter began to drink it, a grimace crossing his face before passing it back.

Philistines, Crowley's teas were the best. "I gave him both headlines."

Turning to his brother, Dean knew he shouldn't involve him, but they needed to. "Great, so, got anything?"

Thinking through a plan, Sam raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Crowley should break into Hell and get the angel out." That, unlike the other mystery, had a clear cut objective.

"Yeah, that's what Dean said, but I can't. Not without backup." Flicking Sam a bitter look, Crowley began to flick through a gossip magazine.

Tired, Dean huffed and began unfolding the futon. "I meant the riddle." Because he already had an idea for the whole 'Hell's Angel' problem. It didn't take a genius to come up with one. The riddle, however, gave him a headache.

Shrugging, the younger hunter grabbed his towel. "My guess is that a creature that's been made man is gonna be used in a blood ritual to resurrect the 'first to die'." Suddenly, realisation hit him. "Crap."

"What?"

Shaken by his realisation, Sam's widened. "Cas. He was at the middle of the ritual last time, and made human 'cuz of it." They had to save him.

"Make's sense. Wings always had a way of finding trouble." Mumbled the King of Hell as he sipped some tea.

Frozen in place, Dean's heart raced. "Shut it, Crowley, unless you've got anything useful to say." Dick or not, Cas was his best friend. If anything happened to him, Dean would feel only guilt.

Sighing, Crowley shrugged. "I'm just saying, that he never seems to make the right decision that always leads to some horrible climax that kills him." The demon had a point, but if he didn't shut his mouth, Dean would exorcise him.

Sensing the tension and rising fury filling the room, Sam stood and placed his giant hands on Dean's shoulders. "We'll fix this. We always do."

The building rage began to ebb away from the older hunter the moment his brother touched him. Slowing his breathing, Dean shrugged away from Sam's grasp. "Go shower, you smell like ass." Noticing his younger brother's concerned look he shooed him away. "I ain't gunna kill him, yet. Go." He still needed Crowley.

Upon that confirmation, Sam gave a light smile and shut himself in the bathroom. He didn't know if it was Cas running off, again, causing this heightened aggression, or the fact people kept on leaving them. Mom, Dad, Bobby. Everyone had died, and Sam had run away his fair share of times, too, which he now regretted. Each time someone had left Dean, it must've done hell to his self-confidence.

Alone with the demon, Dean sat at the end of Crowley's bed. "You decided yet?" This was the only plan he had.

Huffing, Crowley glanced up from the magazine. "Only an idiot would ask me to do this."

"Just give me an answer."

Rolling his eyes, the King of Hell nodded. "And only an idiot would say no to Dean Winchester." Everyone who had regretted it, and Crowley had already faced that first hand.

"So you'll do it." Relief was visible on Dean's face, as he stood.

"Yes, I'll drag you in and out of the pit. It would be easier if we had an angel to help us-"

"But we don't have one, so this'll have to do." The angels had said it took a butt-load of them to get Dean out, but Sammy proved it could be done, and with the King of Hell, they could get anywhere near-unnoticed.

"I guess it does."

Sam didn't have to know about this suicide mission, he was ill, the stress would probably make it worse. Settling down into the futon, Dean attempted to make himself comfortable, sticking a foot out from under the duvet. God he missed his memory foam bed, and how it embraced him.


	5. Bandages

_"You've given them enough. We both gave our lives for them, and they still call us 'freaks.'"_

Near-full moon shining bright above the two boys, Stiles was drunk. Very, very drunk. It was understandable, he had always been a lightweight and had just devoured quarter of a bottle of Jack. However, the objective had been to get Scott drunk, but he was as sober and dour as an old war vet. Thanks Allison.

Reclining back on the stone floor, the human was babbling on about girls and fish and other nonsense. Although Scott interjected every so often, he hadn't really been listening. No matter what his best friend said, it couldn't help the emptiness in his gut. Allison was everything to him, and she wanted 'a break'. How could he tell her what she meant to him, and explain Wednesday's actions without sounding mad or getting killed? C'mon, her family were hunters!

"...I love- especially ones with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes. Five foot three." It must've been nice in Stiles' head. Safe, cosy.

Sighing, Scott glanced down at his best friend. "Like Lydia?"

Completely ignoring the odd angle the rock tilted his head, Stiles was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Yeah, exactly. Hey! How did you know I was talking about Lydia- bu- What was I talking 'bout?" Drunk or not, the thought of Lydia always made the human giddy and childlike. "Hey. You're not happy, so you drink!" Haphazardly clasping hold of the bottle of whiskey, the human attempted to ply the werewolf with more alcohol.

Shaking his head, Scott turned it down. "I don't want anymore." It wasn't just the horrid dry burn that kept him from gulping down the lot, but the fact he knew it wouldn't work. Nothing would. The only thing he wanted was to be with Allison.

"You're not drunk?"

"'M not anything."

Even hammered, Stiles' overactive, genius, mind had it figured out in a few seconds. "Hey, like maybe its like not needing your inhaler anymore, well maybe you can't get drunk, as a wolf." After a pause, the human thought for a moment. "Am I drunk?"

With a huff, Scott confirmed that his friend was wasted. He should know, he had been listening to his 'comforting' drunken gibberish for an hour now.

Proud of his accomplishment, the boy attempted to celebrate. "Yeah!" Lifting his hand ready for a fist-bump, Stiles awaited the reciprocation. It hurt him when he was denied his right. "Aww, c'mon I kn..." The human began his supportive speeches again, which became tiring and actually kind of irritating to the werewolf. "...but I know this, I know that, as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse."

Scott knew that sentence didn't make any sense, even if he had been listening fully. Usually, he'd laugh at his crazy pal's drunken tomfoolery, but the past few days were unbearable and Allison was the only one who could fix it.

Frowning in confusion, Scott watched his friend grab for the drink beside him. Suddenly, another hand snatched it away. Two large men had appeared with smug sneers on their faces. Breath becoming heavy, heart thumping against his chest, Scott's skin began to itch.

"Well, look at the two lil' bitches gettin' their drink on." Drunk Stiles didn't like confrontation. Drunk Stiles didn't like two fully grown men swearing in that prison-shower way. It freaked him out no end. Drunk Stiles wanted to go home, very very quickly.

However, Sober Scott had other ideas. Rage filled the emptiness in his gut as he spoke back to the giant men. He really wanted that bottle back, he didn't even know why, but he was gonna get it. Or he'd tear these men a knew hole.

Panicking, Stiles insisted that they should leave. A bottle of Jack meant nothing compared to their lives. And Stiles liked his life, as screwed up as it was. Still not sober, he attempted to stand, but fear and alcohol weakened him. "Scott, maybe we should just go." Going without his best friend wasn't an option. Drunk driving would end with Stiles' insides on his outside. That, and Scott looked ready to kill.

"You bought me here to get me drunk, Stiles. I'm not drunk yet." Stated the werewolf, as he readied himself to kill. Fury boiled within him as the thugs laughed at them. Slowly standing, Scott stepped into the biggest man's space as he gulped down the whiskey. "Give me the bottle." Furthering the rage, the man shook his head. That was a mistake.

Low growling rumbled from deep within the werewolf, a molten gold glow crossing its irises. Claws extended as the boy poised to attack. Even as his drunk friend implored him, he couldn't resist the urge to kill.

Terrified of the growling teenager, Reddick passed back the bottle, which the boy smashed into a tree.

Scott then turned to Stiles and pulled him up. "Let's go."

"Scott..."

"Now." In this mood, there was no arguing with the teen wolf. It sobered the human for a second, before they ran back to the Jeep.

Little did they know, leaving the other two on their own in the woods sentenced the men to their deaths. The Alpha was on the prowl, and their names were on his list. Unger's screams, as he was dragged through the dirt, and tossed into a flaming trashcan, went unheard on the other side, at the bus stop.

Cold, Castiel shoved his hands in the deep pockets of his trench coat. All he wanted to do was to get back home to Kansas and see the others. Crowley should be out of isolation and observation by now, and perhaps they'd found a way to cure Sam. It was actually quite exciting knowing he'd be able to tell Dean about his adventure. Yes, the hunter would be upset with him for being gone, but he'd understand. Especially when Cas told him about how he chose to come back. He always would.

However, Cas found it was unsettling that the bus stop was unlit and nestled on the edge of dark wooded parkland. Why Gabe had insisted on leaving Castiel at this particular one bewildered him. Surely the bus driver would be unable to see anyone waiting there. Yes, the moon was quite bright, but a human's eyesight wasn't that good.

Suddenly, a fierce and terrible howl shook the air around the ex-angel. Spinning around, he swiftly grabbed his blade, Castiel knew he couldn't win. Not really. But he would try send the thing to Purgatory, even if it killed him. Saving innocents was worth that much, even if it meant not seeing the others, his family, again.

A large shadow moved just past the tree-line, not three feet away from the poised soldier. He could smell the blood of recent kills on the beast as it encircled him.

However, before he could think, or raise his blade, he was set upon. Landing with a heavy thud, Castiel found himself pinned to the wet concrete. Staring up at the monster, he could see the madness, frenzy... loneliness, in the creature's eyes. It swiped at him with it's giant claws, again and again. It even moved to bite him.

Struggling under the snarling beast's weight, Cas attempted to shove it off, to stab it with his angel blade. Shoving a knee into the monster's ribs, the ex-angel managed to flip it onto it's back and recover his blade.

Something was wrong. The sickening scent of copper filled the air, fresh and copious. Glancing down, the man noticed a dark patch spread across his abdomen. Realisation bought with it the searing pain. Doubling over in agony, Castiel clasped his wound, allowing his blade to clatter upon the floor.

Eyesight fading with the blood-loss, the ex-angel was certain he saw the beast change form. Human arms wrapped around him, cradling him as he was settled onto the floor. Before he blacked out, a gentle voice began to comfort him.

"It's okay. I've got you."

Then, nothing.

Waking up, Castiel found himself surrounded by tubes and bright lights. The constant noise of beeping pierced through his skull. This was one place he was well-acquainted with, the hospital.

Wincing, the ex-angel removed the tubes from his nose and attempted to sit up. However, a gentle arm crossed his chest stopping him. "Oh no you don't. Lay back down." He recognised the soft, motherly voice.

Staring at Melissa, Castiel tried to read her expression, but it was becoming more difficult with time. "I have to go. My family-"

"I'm sure they're okay." Fluffing his pillows, Melissa tried to calm the man down. She knew he had been through hell in the past few hours, and didn't want him to panic.

"But, they're waiting for me."

"They'll understand if you're late. What matters is your health." Softly smiling, she sat on the chair beside the bed. "Your next of kin has been called, and should be here any moment now." Derek Hale had done this, Melissa knew it. He'd come back to finish what he'd started. Castiel Novak had been hurt because he had protected his students. Her son.

Spotting the sadness and guilt in the nurse's eyes, the ex-angel placed a bandaged hand on her shoulder. Glancing up, Melissa felt her heart skip. The man's large blue eyes shimmered with concern, and his touch alone made her feel safe, warm. Lifting her hand, she carefully gripped his.

Laden with a box of candies, Gabriel burst in, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Well, ain't this cosy!" Startled, Castiel swiftly snatched his arm away. "Oh, no, don't mind me." Winking, the archangel perched himself on the bed, practically on Cas' lap.

Dazed, Melissa proceeded to apologise and rushed off. Back at the Nurse's Station, she attempted to gather her thoughts. "C'mon Mel, that was completely unprofessional." Heavily sitting herself on the chair behind the desk, she rested her head on her arms. "He's a patient, and Scott's teacher." Thinking back to the man's doe-eyes, she huffed. She knew it was just because he helped her son, and suffered for it. That, and she hadn't even looked at a guy in a three years. Not a real man, 'cuz glimpses of George Clooney didn't count.

"Melissa? Excuse me?" Glancing up, the nurse smiled at Sheriff Stilinski. "I hear you've spoken to Mr Novak, did he say anything about what happened?" Tired, the man looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

Concerned about her friend, Melissa stood. "I can't say he did. But you look exhausted. How 'bout I get you a coffee while you question him?" She offered a friendly smile, before hurrying off to the staff room, the machine stuff tasted like rodent.

Slowly opening the door to Mr Novak's room, Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat. "Mr Novak? I'm Sheriff Stilinski, I need to ask you a few questions about the attack." Pulling out his notepad and pen, the officer sat where Melissa had been before.

Sighing, Castiel lightly shoved Gabriel off the bed, towards the door. "'Kay, I get it. 'M going, but I'm taking my candy." Throwing his brother a jovial grin as he scooped up the box and glided through the door.

"Can you tell me what you were doing at that bus stop?"

"Of course." Shifting slightly, the wounded man settled himself to face the cop properly. "I was going home, to Kansas." Leaning over the edge of the bed, Castiel picked up the jug of water and poured himself a glass. His mouth was sticky and tasted of copper, making his voice sound even more gravelly than usual.

Nodding, Sheriff then asked another. "Did you see your assailant?" He half expected a simple 'No' or 'Derek Hale', but he didn't expect to hear what he did.

A low growl rose up from deep within Castiel's gut. "Yes." It was full of fury, force, deeper than usual. "He was comforting, after. Polite."

"Can you... Clarify?"

Huffing, Castiel looked away, then glanced back. "Not really. He sliced me open, then told me he 'had me' as he held my wound." Mr Novak looked remarkably awake considering, and impatient. It was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, with the amount he was fidgeting.

"Do you know why?" This case was getting stranger with each attack. At first it had seemed like an animal, but the kids had named Derek, and then this teacher gave a character profile of the killer that didn't fit their suspect. Sheriff really needed a drink.

Growing restless, Castiel shrugged. "Unless he wanted to infect me with something, and not kill me... No."

"Okay." It did sound kind of weird, but there had been that case in Iowa three years ago. This all reminded the Sheriff of that group his son was part of. Moondoor?

Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Melissa entered carrying a steaming hot coffee. Passing it to Sheriff, she smiled at Castiel, "How are you feeling now?" Colour was returning to the man's cheeks extraordinarily fast. The nurse had never actually seen a recovery like that.

Returning the smile, Cas shifted. "I am fine, now. Thank you." It was strange, he felt strong. Yes, the wounds hurt, but with burning, as if the flesh was meshing itself together. "May I use the utilities?"

Slightly taken aback, Melissa nodded, and began to lower the metal bed railings. Sheriff decided it was time to question Mr Shay, the man who found Mr Novak, and left the two alone.

Turning to sit on the edge of the bed, the ex-angel winced. The tugging on his wounds felt more like tearing, which would only happened if they were healing already. Glancing down at his side, where the most prominent laceration was hidden beneath bandages, he could see blood seep through. "Damn." Growling, Castiel held his wound.

Concerned, Melissa moved to check it. "Oh god. Lay back, now."

Struggling against her, the ex-angel refused. "I'm okay. Let go."

"No! Mr Novak, your stitches have split."

"Get off, I'm fine." In the struggle, Castiel had managed to reach the door. Grabbing the handle, he stepped out into the crowded corridor in only his pants. Rushing towards Gabriel, who was loitering by the vending machine, he demanded to know where the toilet was.

Startled, the Archangel grabbed his brother's arm and tried to prod the bleeding wound. "You 'kay man? You look like crap." Receiving a stern expression in response, he led his brother to the bathroom. Once there, he was dragged in, door slamming behind them.

Dropping the toilet lid, Castiel sat upon it and started to tear off the bandages. For the first time, the ex-angel realised the extent of the damage. His whole torso was practically shredded. A vicious red crescent had been torn into his side, pulsing with blood.

Pressing his thumb and forefinger on either side of the wound, Castiel pressed them together. Watching as the blood clotted and flesh began to mesh, the ex-angel worriedly glanced up at his brother. "Please tell me-"

"Sorry, Cassie." Crouching in front of his human sibling, Gabriel placed his hand upon Castiel's knee. "Lil' bro, I gotta break it to you: You're a lycanthrope now."

Slowly swallowing, the ex-angel licked his lips and raised his eyes to above him. Continuing eye-contact with Heaven, he felt his eyes sting. "I'll never get back to Heaven."

Solemn for the first time this week, the archangel sighed and tightened his clasp on his brother's knee. "Or Kansas."

Suddenly, the Cas' head snapped back down, to frown at his brother, unable to comprehend the news. He had to go back. Dean and Sam needed him. Yes, they had Crowley, but needed Castiel. He had to help them. "I have to-"

"No, you don't Cassie. You don't have to do anything for them. You've given them enough. We both gave our lives for them, and they still call us 'freaks.'" The pure emotion in Gabriel's voice displayed pain. It was so rare, Castiel found himself giving in. "What do you think Dean would do to you if he found out you're a 'monster'? He made Sammy kill that Madison chick, and you haven't bedded either of them." Although vulgar, the archangel had a point. Dean didn't love Cas... He probably even hated him. If the ex-angel were to return, the hunters would probably kill on sight.

Gulping back sorrow, Castiel returned attention to his wounds, speechless. His heart was breaking in unimaginable ways. In the matter of two weeks, he had lost Heaven and Kansas. God had a sick sense of humour, taunting him with the safety and comfort of family, only to tear it away when it was perfect.

It was a few minutes before the two of them could hear banging on the door. "Mr Novak, your wounds need immediate attention. Please." Melissa's desperate voice dragged Castiel back to the present.

Standing up, Gabriel grinned. "This lady likes you, maybe you should ask to trade numbers." Winking, the archangel unlocked the door, flying off as he did. He left a very solemn Castiel to deal with the frantic Melissa.

As the door clicked, the nurse opened the door to find Mr Novak sat on a closed toilet. Slowly, she stepped forwards, examining the situation. The man looked utterly broken, but, remarkably and terrifyingly, healed. "How-"

"Don't ask." Standing, the ex-angel considered Gabriel's words. He didn't want Melissa, he wanted to be with the Winchesters, his true family. But they were hunters. Frowning, he glanced at the nurse's concerned expression. Maybe the world didn't have to end. Maybe he should ask for her number.

Nervously, Melissa clasped hold of the man's arm. It was warm, soft... Wrong, but she did like him. "Please go back to your room." It was strange, he gazed at her with those giant blue eyes, and it felt like he could see right into her soul. "Please..."

Nodding, the man followed his nurse to the room he woke up in. "I was- I wondered... What is- May we trade numbers?" Stumbled the ex-angel as the two of them entered the room. Half expecting to be hit, or screamed at, he winced. Previous experience with human females had been due to peer-pressure and amnesia.

Taken aback, Melissa accidentally let the door slam behind them. "Oh." She wasn't supposed to; it was completely against protocol. "Uh, yes... Yeah." God, she was going to Hell for this. She felt like one of those needy nurses in that awful show, but she couldn't just say no to a gorgeous man.

Grabbing a pad and pen from her pocket, Melissa jotted down her number. "If anyone asks, though, I gave you this after you saved Scott on Wednesday." Passing the man the paper, she smiled. There must've been something wrong with her. She was crazy. She had to be, she was completely ignoring his unnatural healing and the fact he's Scott's teacher.

Taking the paper, Castiel then proceeded to gather his stuff. "I have to go." Slipping on a spare t-shirt, the ex-angel slipped past the woman and out of the hospital before she could argue. Why did he listen to his brother? Yes, she was a beautiful woman, inside and out, but he shouldn't have done that.

Weaving though the parking lot, an unfamiliar voice rose up from within a car. "Are you okay?" Turning his attention to it, Castiel saw a sandy-haired man sat in a car. "Hey!" Climbing out, the man had a concerned expression. "You're the guy from the bus stop, aren't you?"

Shrugging, Castiel scanned the lot for any sign of Gabriel or his car, avoiding eye contact with the overly friendly man.

Making his way around to Cas, he checked the ex-angel up and down. "That's... Wow. I mean, when I found you... Wow." Gripping Castiel's shoulder, the other man lifted his top, which startled Cas. "Healed! Completely healed..." Glancing up, the sandy-haired man froze. "God, sorry." Releasing Cas, he stepped back. "I'm not good with other people."

Frowning, the ex-angel nodded in understanding. Not too long ago, he would have done the same thing, without apologies. "You found me?" When the other man nodded, Castiel thanked him.

"My name is Justin Shay, you?"

"Castiel Novak." The two men shook hands, Justin offered him a ride. Unable to say no to the guy who saved him, Cas climbed into the car, bags on his lap.

After receiving the name of the motel, Justin smiled and began the slow drive. Something felt safe, right, about sharing the car with him. It wasn't the same as sharing with Dean or Sam, but like Gabriel, without the sass and sickly smell.

Cas couldn't remember how long the journey was, but found himself being woken by someone lifting him over their shoulder and settling him onto his bed. Castiel watched through foggy eyes as Justin left, the door shutting with a light click. Left in the darkness, he found his dreams filled with wolves and, for some reason, an eagle, crying for help.


	6. Fragments

_"Hunting isn't a game, Kate. Do I have to remind you about Gordon? Or the Campbell's? 'Go rogue, get dead'."_  

Morning came too soon, and with it Gabriel's rendition of Po Lazarus. With, "Bring him dead or alive, Lawd, Lawd, bring him dead or alive..." waking him, Castiel groaned into his pillow. Why did the archangel have to be so cheerful this early? It wasn't that Cas wanted complete silence, but it was only six, and his voice rang louder than a fog horn. 

Rolling out of bed, the ex-angel could smell the stench of blood and dirt. Trudging into the bathroom, Cas attempted to recall the night before. As he began stripping out of his old, grimy, clothes, a small slip of paper fluttered from his pocket. Scooping it up, the ex-angel read a set of numbers. Suddenly, the memories flooded back, making him collapse.  

Catching himself with the sink, the werewolf checked for his long-gone wounds. Gut sinking, Castiel half hoped this was all some sick dream. He wished he was in another one of Naomi's torture-tests. 

Fighting back the lump in his throat, rage began to replace sorrow. In the mirror, Jimmy's face mocked him. This wasn't him. He wasn't Castiel anymore, he was a monster in a poor man's body. "DAMN IT!" Hurling the metal soap pump at his reflection, the werewolf stepped back, panting. Shattered glass everywhere, he just returned to showering and getting dressed. 

As he buttoned up his new, blue shirt, his brother's voice slithered beneath the door.  "Cassie, you okay?" Since when did Gabe care? Sure, he put on a good show at the hospital, but he had let this all happen. Even had a habit of it. "Cas, you better reply, or I will come in, full-frontal or not." Sighing, the werewolf shuffled over and unlocked the door. Noticing the glass everywhere, Gabriel scowled and clicked his fingers, clearing it up. "Just cuz you're a werewolf, don't mean you can be a bitch about it." 

Growling rose up from deep within the younger brother. All he wanted to do was go home. "The full moon is tonight, isn't it?" He stormed past the Archangel and grabbed his shoes. It was as if he had no control of his emotions, and what he said, trapped in a body not his own. This must've been what it was like to be possessed.

Following his brother, Gabe gripped hold of his shoulder. "Yeah, but women don't hulk-out when they pmt. Suck it up." Okay, some women did, but that's like saying all women like liquorice, and that would be wrong.  

Squinting, the werewolf bared his teeth. "If you do not want me acting this way, you could always cure me." The full moon was playing havoc on him, making him sound more like Dean with every word. "But you won't, because father does not want that." Perhaps he was becoming more like, God forbid, Lucifer.

In response to this, his brother simply turned away, moving his attention to gathering up his janitor stuff.  

Making his way to the door, Gabriel tossed his car keys to his little brother. "You drive us. Your new licence is in the glove box." Holding open the door, he watched his brother slowly gather his teaching stuff. The archangel couldn't even remember whether Cassie had quit or not. It didn't matter, Gabe's divine awesome ensured the position was still his little brother's.

Across town was a very hungover Stiles. Sure, he knew a few tricks to deal with it, but that required effort, and a lot of goat's milk. Sprawled across his bed, the teenager had beaten his alarm into submission twice, and was preparing for a third round, before a rough knock on his window startled him. Bolting upright, he set eyes upon a very terrifying Derek. That sorts out a hangover. 

Swearing, the boy got up and opened the window a notch, before being pushed out of the way, the werewolf entering his room. "Well, that answers the 'Is Derek dead?' Question." Shrugged Stiles. "But not the, 'What the hell are you doing in my room, again?' One."

"Where's Scott?"

"Erm, probably at home. In bed. Like I was, you creepy-" The teen was cut short by the sassy glance the beta threw him. "Dude, we don't live together, so don't gimme that look." 

Huffing, the werewolf surreptitiously opened the bedroom door and glanced out. All clear. Clicking the door shut again, Derek turned to the boy. This news was big. "There's a new beta." It secretly terrified him that he couldn't predict the Alpha, it was like a madman. 

Unsurprised, Stiles shrugged and sat on his computer chair. "Oh, yeah, that'd be Mr Novak." Regardless of his flippant attitude, the boy actually felt bad for the guy, he seemed like a puppy in lesson. It also bought motive into question. The Alpha acted as if he wanted a little lackey, or a son, with Scott, but you can't really claim that for an adult male. After receiving the 'How the heck do you know that' expression, the boy sighed. "What? Dad's a sleep-talker." Walking back and forth trying to catch glimpses of info wasn't a crime, was it?

Impressed, Derek nodded and hovered around the bookcase for a few moments. "Isn't that the ginger and cane sugar guy?" 

"Huh?"

Realising he wasn't talking to Scott, the werewolf huffed. Talking about scent was easier with another of his kind. Thinking about a description that neither sounded wolf-like or attractive, Derek struggled. "Messy hair, and blue eyes, like when I shift. Homeless."

Frowning, Stiles slowly nodded, "Uh, yeah. He's my Ancient histories teacher." The human suddenly regretted telling him. Derek seemed like he hated competitors, and another adult in the pack was gonna mess with the whole... thing... they had going.

After a few moments of silence, and running his hand over a couple of books, Derek returned to the window. "Go to school." Before jumping out and disappearing into the distance.

God, Stiles wished werewolves stopped the whole 'silent stalker' game. Scott with Allison, and Derek with him. It was weird.  

Changing from his PJs to his usual check and denim combo, the boy proceeded to run down the stairs, snatching some toast from his father's plate. "Yo, dad, I'm gonna go to Scott's tonight. Boy stuff." Exchanging a confused expression with Sheriff, the boy amended it. "Allison."  

Shaking his head, Sheriff Stilinski threw his empty plate in the sink. "I'm not gonna be here anyway. There've been three more victims, I don't think I'm getting home 'till morning tomorrow." Seeing his son's excited expression, the new knowledge of Unger and Reddick's deaths surprising him, Sheriff sighed. His son's morbid fascination with this case was upsetting. That's what you get for reaching your teens without a mom. 

Grabbing his bag of 'school stuff', Stiles flicked his father a salute and dashed out of the door. Jumping into his Jeep, the boy sped to Scott's and honked several times.  

"Scott, Stiles is here." Melissa called from the kitchen. Her son had been rude, hurtfully so, earlier. You do not tell snap at your mom when she tries to help. Sure, he'd had his heart broken, but there were people a whole lot worse off, just look at that poor, gorgeous, teacher Castiel Novak. The woman almost laughed when she realised how pathetic she sounded. He probably only asked for her number for some other reason, totally not romantic. 

Stomping down stairs, Scott flung his bag over his shoulder. The boy didn't even say goodbye to his mom before leaving. Slipping into shotgun of the Jeep, the werewolf slammed the door. 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles continued on to school. "'Hey Stiles, buddy. Sorry 'bout my scariness last night.' Oh, that's okay Scott, it's your monthly." Glancing over, his friend ignored his sarcastic conversation. "I had a nice chat with not-dead Derek this morning. He thinks our teach is now Charlie B. Barkin." 

That got Scott's attention. "Which one?" He'd hate it if it was Mr Harris, and it would be terrifying if it was Coach. 

Clicking his tongue in success, Stiles shrugged. "Just my fave. Mr Novak had a 'violent altercation' with the alpha." It wasn't sarcasm when he admitted to Mr N being his favourite teacher. The guy was cool. Socially awkward, but cool. 

Frowning, the young werewolf bit the side of his thumb. "Crap." Shaking his head, the boy returned to gaze out of the window. 

As the Jeep rumbled into the school parking lot, the boys noticed the lime 'Cuda fly past, squealing as it parked up. Rolling up beside it, Stiles parked his car and jumped out. It was strange to see Mr N out of that Constantine coat. "Hey Mr N!"

Startled by the boy, Cas waved his brother off. Gabe shrugged and jogged into the school, leaving the three of them alone. "Hello Mr Stilinski." There was always something tragic about surnames, Castiel reasoned. It was as if the person had to be identified by their family's actions. Noticing Scott as he stepped around the vehicle, the ex-angel nodded. "Mr McCall." 

They were right, surmised Scott, Mr Novak was a werewolf. A weird smelling one, but it was there. That musk, like lime and sandalwood, blended with his natural one, a strange sweet and spicy hybrid. The guy was fighting his form, fury boiling through him. "Are you okay, sir?"

Frowning the teacher tilted his head, "I am as fine as can be expected after being 'turned'. Thank you for your concern." Turning to leave, Castiel felt their eyes follow him up the stairs. 

"If you ever wanna talk, we're here!" Called Stiles after the man, gaining him a concerned glance from his best pal. "C'mon, you had me and Derek, that guy probably has a butt-load of questions." 

"Actually didn't look like it." Scott's voice trailed off as he noticed Allison climbing out of her dad's car. She was looking gorgeous today. 

Huffing, his hyperactive friend hit him, "Earth to Scott, we got lesson. Let's go, before Harris gives us detention." Lame excuse, sure, but Stiles had no idea what would happen if the heartbroken, moon-addled, werewolf stared at his ex for too long. 

Only fifteen minutes later, Stiles regretted forcing his pal into the classroom. Harris had denied the poor werewolf his chance to win Allison back, causing a major panic attack and the two of them to dash to the locker room. The moon had a lot to answer for, damn oversized sky-rock.

Back in the classroom, Allison attempted to focus on her test, but Scott's sudden storm-out worried her. The boy was normally gentle, the kindest person she'd ever met, and to think of him in pain hurt her. Jotting down all the answers she could think of, the girl hurriedly dashed from the class, dropping the paper onto Harris' desk.

Resisting trying to find her ex, the girl sat on a bench outside and pulled out her Ancient Histories project. La Bête couldn't distract her from the guilt she felt in her gut, no matter what Lydia had said, maybe Scott had tried to help them. Although a poorly thought out plan, she could see how it could have been his attempt to save the group. 

Every time Allison thought back to the killer, Derek, she would find herself gripping a pen, defensively. This may've concerned her, had she not put it down to reading about monsters and how her family were these 'Hunters'. Unable to concentrate, the girl slammed the book and shoved it back in her bag.

Bright, the Californian sun shone high above her. The musky scent of drying dirt filled her senses, and reminded her of the hikes she went on with her dad. Just off in the distance, on the edge of the woods, a man perched on the hood of an pale blue pony car. The guy was scruffy, with ruffled sandy blond hair, and grey Henley shirt. Sure, she was new here, but Allison was sure she had never seen him in town. 

Curiosity overruled reason, as the girl jumped off of the bench and began to make her way over. As the guy noticed her, he slid off of the hood. "Hello, miss." He couldn't have been much taller than the girl, but around the same age as her dad. 

"Hey, uh, I was, kinda wondering..." Careful Allison, you don't know the man. "What make is your car?" Weak, Allison. Well done, what would Aunt Kate say?

Smiling, the man patted the petty blue hood. "Beauty, ain't she? She's a Dodge Challenger '73." Glancing over to the school, the guy frowned. "Why aren't you in class?" 

Taken aback, Allison frowned and explained she had a free now. It was as if he was a teacher or her dad, both bearing the same vigilance. "Are you here to meet someone?" It was close enough to her real question. What she really wanted to know was whether he was a threat or not. 

"A teacher. No idea if he's here now though..." Noticing the girl's frown, the guy had an idea. "You might know him. Castiel Novak?"

It was that strange moment when you hear a teacher's first name, and your mind somersaults. Allison found herself stuck. After a moment, she realised who the guy meant. "I have him next. I can say you're here, if you want." What was she doing? The girl felt compelled to help the man. 

Smiling, the guy nodded and introduced himself with a warm handshake. "Justin Shay." That's good, it wasn't the name of an axe murderer, but something about him didn't sit well with her. 

Bidding the stranger goodbye, Allison rushed off to Ancient Histories. Reaching the classroom, the girl sighed, what was she thinking? She knew about stranger danger. Sure, she was seventeen, but that wasn't a good excuse to talk to just anybody, especially when Derek was about. 

A sudden smash broke the girl from her trance. Slowly peering through the window into the class, Allison spotted Mr Novak stood above the fragments of an old Grecian urn. 

Cautiously opening the door, the Argent stepped into the room. "Mr Novak?" He looked a mess, both physically and emotionally, his dark hair wilder then usual, and stubble more prominent. "Mr Novak?" Repeated the girl, louder this time. Placing her bag down, Allison grabbed a broom and swept up the clay pot.

Dazed, the teacher sat at his desk. He was in no state to lead a class. "Thank you Miss Argent." Argent was a contact of Samuel Campbell's, wasn't it? Glancing up, the ex-angel now saw the family resemblance, the hard hunter jawline, an archer's posture. Even though he was a werewolf now, it made Castiel smile. At least something was going to be done about the Alpha. 

"Mr Novak, are you okay?" 

Nodding, the teacher leant back in his chair. It was a lie, but Dean had always told him that lies protected the innocent and, well, Cas himself. He wasn't going to tell a hunter about being turned, or the moon-fuelled rage boiling within him. That, and the girl was his student, not a counsellor.  

Sitting down in her usual spot, just in front of the board, Allison busied herself with getting out books. Suddenly remembering she had info for her teacher, the girl caught his attention. "Justin Shay is looking for you, by the way." 

Frowning, Castiel tilted his head and began to sift through his mental logs of people he knew. Sandy-haired man? Yes, the one that saved him and took him home last night. "Thank you, Miss Argent." Cas would try and find him after class, and hope he was still here; Justin needed to be thanked for his assistance. 

When Lydia finally came in and settled beside her best friend, Allison was forced to listen to the red-head's rant about how some people can be so stupid. The lesson was strange. Mr Novak wasn't at all like his first lesson. It was as if he was fighting back fury... Like Scott. This left the Argent suspicious.  

The rest of the day, for her, ran in quite a strange direction. Discovering Scott and Lydia's kiss cut in deep, and played to her suspicions. After school, she spent her time with Kate, shooting a taser at a teddy bear. The strength it gave her made Allison feel so much better after a confusing and painful day. 

Scott had been suffering the full moon's clutches the whole day, and then found himself handcuffed to the radiator in his room. Sometimes, just sometimes, he hated Stiles. 

On the other side of town, another beta found himself stuck at school late, again. Luckily, this time he wasn't met by werewolves, but Justin. The man greeted the werewolf with a smile. "How are you now, Cas?" Opening the shotgun door, the sandy haired man offered him a ride.

Sighing, the ex-angel licked his lips and corrected the man, "It's Castiel, and I am... Coping, thank you." Climbing into the vehicle, he began to grow concerned. The full moon was soon to appear, and he had no idea what the change would be like. He had to get back to the motel soon. 

Sliding into the driver's side, Justin nodded, and revved the car. Speeding towards Castiel's, the guy reminded the ex-angel that he had spent the whole day waiting to see if he was okay. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" Hearing no mouthful, the sandy haired man continued, "I'm no fool, I have been around. I know the signs of a Supe." 

Frowning, Castiel tilted his head towards the other man. "You know?" Receiving a loose nod, the ex-angel sighed. "Then you know that you should hurry. I don't know when the first shift will happen."

Grinning, Justin mumbled something about human laws only applying to humans anyway, hitting the gas. It was the fastest Castiel had ever seen a vehicle go from the inside. Everything was a blur through the window. "Won't be good if I get caught doing this, though." Remarked the man. "I'm state detective." Laughing, he pushed the car to its limits.

Skidding into the motel parking lot, Justin parked up. "Need anything else, just ask." 

Nodding, the ex-angel thanked his new, strange, friend, before dashing to his room. Slamming the door behind him, Castiel locked himself in and rushed over to a pile of Gabriel's belongings. Rope, chains, anything. Finding several bungee cords, a sack of goofer dust and mountain ash, the werewolf fought the moon long enough to erect a barrier, protecting the world from him. 

Beginning to sweat, the werewolf struggled to bind himself to the radiator. Where was Gabriel? Giving him the tools to help was not the same as actually tying his brother up. Growls rose up from deep within Castiel's gut. Finally latching the final cords together, the werewolf gave in to the monster inside. 

Sat in Jackson's car, Allison confided in her new friend. Her family was lying to her, they all seemed to become shifty when she mentioned Derek. 

Knowing the route the conversation was going, Jackson helped her understand. He didn't know much himself, but you could bet the secrets the Argents were keeping were similar to Scott's and the murderer's. Turning to the girl, the boy frowned, "I know this sounds crazy, and you have to promise not to tell anyone..." 

"Okay..."

"I saw the murderer back at the school, and it... Looked human 'til it ran off. Then it was like some kind of wolf-creature." God, he did sound mad. 

Nodding, Allison licked her lips and smiled. "I thought I was the only one!" Okay Allison, you're not going crazy, but that's no reason to celebrate. "What do you think it is?"

Startled by the girl's belief, Jackson resisted a slanted smile. "'M not sure, but Scott saw Derek." Realising where he could take this, the boy suddenly turned to Allison. "Did Scott seem... weird today?" 

Taken aback by the sudden topic change, the girl frowned and nodded. Kissing her best friend was definitely weird. But what did that have to do with Derek and the murders? 

Off in the distance, Scott watched them, the moon addling his thoughts. In his mind, the two were kissing. His bloodlust rose to new heights. Preparing to attack, the beta crouched, claws extended. 

Before he could charge, a sudden, heavy, force threw him back into the woods behind.  

Snarling, Derek encircled him, giant fangs bared. Lunging for the older werewolf, Scott frantically tore at him. With more mental clarity, Derek was able to outmanoeuvre the boy, his hits landing with precision. 

Eventually, Scott could no longer fight, exhaustion filling him in the place of rage. "Are you done?" Unfazed, the older werewolf lifted the younger one up, both back in human form. 

Nodding, Scott groaned, his wounds already healing with that horrific burning. The two made their way back to Derek's Camaro. The drive was tense, the moon's pull still making the boy hungry for blood. Resting his head against the cold window, he sighed. "I don't want to be like this." 

Glancing over, Derek raised an eyebrow, "'S far as I know, there's only one confirmed way outta being a werewolf." When passed a quizzical look from the boy, the older man sighed, eyes watching the road. "Death, Scott. I don't know anyone who's been cured." 

Sitting up, Scott practically grabbed the other man's arm. "Confirmed. You said confirmed. What's the unconfirmed way. I'll try anything." Anything was better than being a monster. 

"You have to kill the Alpha that bit you." Glancing over, Derek could see Scott grow excitable. "But we still don't know who the Alpha is, or how to kill it. We're betas. Alphas are designed to be better than us." 

Once back home, Scott spent the night trying to sleep off the moon's ill effects. All he could dream about was who the Alpha was, and imagining scenarios where he killed them. It was disturbing, but oddly comforting, knowing he could become human again. He could go back to being the weak asthmatic who was failing all of his classes. At least he could go out with Allison again. If she would take him back. 

On the other side of town, the Alpha had struck again. Watching the victim's body being wheeled off, Kate and Chris Argent stood on the outskirts of the police cordon. "How many more people have to be killed?

"Chris, werewolves are monsters, they kill for fun. It doesn't matter how many they kill now, we're gonna stop it from killing anyone else." Crossing her arms, Kate leant against the Tahoe. "What I wanna know is how many betas are there?"

Confused, her brother turned to pass a frown. "I told you, two." 

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Kate unfolded her arms and patted her brother's shoulder. "That was before yesterday." Climbing into the shotgun seat, the woman slammed the door and leant out of the window. "Justin says he's got sights on the third beta."

"We're just gonna let him deal with it?" Remarked Chris as he climbed into the driver's seat.

Laughing, Kate checked her gun for bullets. "Hells no! We deal with Derek and his protege, and let Justin do his thing with the newbie."

"Hunting isn't a game, Kate. Do I have to remind you about Gordon? Or the Campbell's? 'Go rogue, get dead'." Sometimes Chris wanted to knock some sense into his little sister. If she went off track, another hunter would put her down, if a monster didn't do it first.

Huffing, the woman switched on the stereo. "Whoever offed them gets my vote." Noticing her brother's deepening frown, she shrugged. "That don't mean I won't kill their murderers." 'Course she would kill the hunter killers, it was more than her duty, it was insurance. 

Over by the police car, Stiles tightly hugged his dad. He had thought he was dead! Scott had broken out of the handcuffs, and the human boy was searching for his best pal all night, only to find this. Another victim. 

Pulling away and patting his son on the head, Sheriff Stilinski told him to sit in the car, and that they'd go home soon. Okay, he was supposed to go back to the station, but he wasn't gonna leave his son to go home on his own when another guy had been murdered. This would be a one off thing, Sheriff assured himself. He needed a rest anyway. 

When the two men got home, they ordered pizza and watched a Monty Python film. Laughing at the Trojan Rabbit scene, deep down both men understood how rarely they would be able to do this. Beacon Hills was a beacon for the strange, and there would be more deaths before they were through. 

Stiles just hoped his dad wasn't one of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for reading so far, and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it! I read all of your reviews, and love to hear what you think about it. However, some of you have been requesting and speculating the pairings, and I feel I have to clarify, the canon pairings for this fic are Dean/Cas, Melissa/Cas and any show!canon. There is a surprise one, but you won't be able to guess it. (Revealed in chapter 7)
> 
> This was written so that you can take whatever ships you want from it, much like the shows have them. Sterek, Destiel etc. are not fic!canon, but you let your ships sail if you want em!


	7. Terrors

_"Forged in the fiery pit of the underworld, a luminary is bent, broken, until their God is no more."_

Rustling of papers echoed throughout the batcave. Sam's ragged choking-fits interrupted every few minutes. No amount of research could distract him from the tightening knot in his gut, or the tiny devils trying to break through his skull. Since the last hunt, the hunter had sworn he was having a near-miracle recovery, but today's relapse made him feel like death.

Slamming an ancient copy of the King James, he pulled another tome forwards. This one had two entwined serpents, forming an 'S', emblazoned on the front. Confused, the man didn't remember this one, but the he did recognise the symbol. Putting the strange feeling down to his sickness, Sam began to flick through, for any information of the prophecy. It was nothing to do with angels, but he continued, knowing nothing was as it seemed, and everything was fair game.

Just off in the doorway, Dean silently watched his baby brother struggle. Maybe now wasn't the right time, this could wait, couldn't it? Sighing, the hunter dropped his head. Demons had the monopoly of eternity, humans weren't that lucky.

Picking his head up, Dean hid his doubts behind a facade as he strode through the main chamber. "So, Sammy, we're outta beers and pie. I'm just gonna, y'know..." The older man shook the Impala keys to say the rest.

Frowning, Sam never looked from the book, "'Kay, please don't forget toilet paper."

Pouting, Dean was shaken by how easy that was as he headed out. Slamming the bunker door shut behind him, the humid air instantly made his skin sticky. Slowly walking towards his Baby, the hunter's mind flicked through the plan. Hell... He was going to Hell with its king.

Suddenly, Crowley cut across his path with a hessian sack slung over his shoulder. "Moose is clueless?" To the nodded response, the King of Hell continued, "Good, he's not well, knowing about this would probably make it worse." Opening the trunk, the shorter man carefully placed the bag in. This was going to work.

Both were quiet as they made their way out of town, Baby's purrs filling the silence between them. Both knew this war was gonna end bloody, they could feel it in their bones. For every war they ended, a deadlier one always took its place. The apocalypse, the angelic civil war, Leviathans, and all the other crap that had infected their lives, it felt like it was never gonna end.

Sighing, Crowley could see the human's cogs turning. "You're doing that annoying, 'I'm deep and conflicted again, hug me Sammy.' Look. What's wrong?" Although Dean wanted to punch the demon for the awful impression, he found himself smiling. Okay, Crowley wasn't that bad. His rudeness was actually amusing after a while.

Shrugging, the hunter shifted in his seat, "We're goin' back to Hell, man. No one does that on purpose."

"Orpheus and Aeneas did. Not forgetting Sammy's little escapade."

"Exactly, only heroes do."

Raising an eyebrow, the King of Hell tentatively placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. Receiving a glare, he swiftly removed it. "We'll do this. Your track record proves that." It also proved that the chances of Crowley dying was high, but that didn't mean this wasn't worth the risk. Only Crowley knew the full effects of an Archdemon. Only Crowley was alive to remember.

 - Forged in the fiery pit of the underworld, a luminary is bent, broken, until their God is no more. Until they are nothing, ready to be filled with the daemonic taint of Thanatos. Breaking from its cursed chains, the Beast will walk free, corrupting mankind and bringing Hell to Earth. -

Reaching an abandoned farm, out of town, the two men stepped from the car. Sniffing the air, Crowley nodded. "The storm is close." Licking his finger, he lifted it into the air. "We have five minutes." Pulling out a stick of chalk, the man ordered Dean to get the sack from the trunk.

Watching the King of Hell begin counting his paces, Dean pulled out the hessian bag and carried it over. As the demon sketched a giant symbol on the crumbling concrete, the hunter placed thirteen candles strategically over each point.

Once the sigil had been drawn, Crowley pulled out a silver chalice and placed it upon the sun sketch in the centre. Slowly, he poured in various ingredients. Glancing over to the other man, Dean noticed the King of Hell slice through his own palm, allowing the ruby droplets drip into the bowl. God he hated witchcraft.

Standing, Crowley beckoned the hunter over. Rain slowly began to mist around them, cutting through the humid air. "Stand here," Gripping the human by his shoulders, the demon positioned them opposite each other, Dean on Scorpio, Crowley on Taurus.

The first rumbles of thunder shook the air around the men. "Mitte nos in domum, ad terram inferiorem." Hovering his hand above the chalice, Crowley shut his eyes. "Terra regnabat in terra timet." Suddenly, flames burst forward, surrounding them. Gripping onto Dean's shoulders, the demon's incantation grew fiercer. "Da nobis tenebrae nostrae, sed sinit!"

Whipping around them, the fire grew. The ground beneath them shook. With a giant crack they were falling. Before he knew it, as if he had never moved, Dean was on his feet, swaying, dizzy and nauseous. Gripping his gut, the man scanned the area. Darkness tinted red.

Brushing himself off, Crowley glanced around and hooked his arm under Deans, trying to support him. "We're close." Once his eyes had adjusted, Dean could see he was in a giant chamber, the walls moving, twisting, groaning. "The Hall of the Damned, filled with the souls of traitors."

\- Human flesh. Soft. Sweet. Warm. Let us taste it. Tear it. Take it. Devour it. -

Hollow whispers echoed around them. As the two of them stepped forth, ancient torches flickered into life. The groaning grew.

Heart racing, Dean shrugged off Crowley's grip, hand grabbing for his gun. A cold hand ran down his spine.

Spinning around, gun drawn, the man saw nothing but mist. Stepping backwards, toward the exit, cold hands gripped at his ankles. Kicking them off, the hunter shot through the mist. No bullet hit. Breathing becoming heavy, Dean realised this had been a mistake. He could feel nails dragging across his chest, marking him.

\- Warm. Sweet. Human flesh. Let us taste it. Let us destroy it. -

Clasping hold of the human's arms, Crowley forced him towards the giant gated exit. Each step grew heavier, as if they were being dragged down, the hands fierce and strong. Eyes darkening, Crowley released Dean and threw his hands into the shadow. He wrestled with it, flames whipping through the mist.

Suddenly, yelling erupted throughout the room, the King being pierced through the heart, being impaled by a pike of shadow.

\- Let us skin your demon bones, too, Demon-Lord. We answer to none. -

The mist tore around them, laughing. Using his weakening powers, Crowley dispelled the pike. Black blood gushing from him, he pulled out an angel blade, and thrust it into the mist, which did nothing. "Bastards." Spat the demon, as he tried to beat and slash at the evil creatures, holding his heart.

Shooting with one hand, and slicing with the Ruby's knife, Dean spun around. Panicking, the man felt a hand grip his throat. Lifting him, a form separated from the mist, and solidified with fire blazing in otherwise empty eye sockets.

\- Your ours. Let us taste it. Tear it. Devour it all. -

"Now!" Cried the man as the monster's hand began to boil hot, burning the hunter's skin.

Swinging around, Crowley thrust the blade into the creature's back. Wailing, the form dropped Dean, frantically twisting and clawing at itself. As it clasped at its face, it was reclaimed by the mist.

Taking this opportunity, Crowley grabbed Dean and ran from the chamber. Gates slamming behind them, the two men panted. "What. Were. They?" Panted the hunter as he rubbed the hand-shaped burn on his neck.

Hand pressed against his heart, Crowley began re-meshing his vessel's flesh. "Those were Shadows, the twisted- ah, reflections of traitors after a century's punishment." Fully healed, he re-sheathed the angel blade. "Once made, nothing can control them but Erebus, so they are locked away in the Hall of the Damned." But even Erebus could not kill them, that was a gift only allowed for luminaries or Fae.

Licking his lips, Dean was still reeling from the attack. He had never seen this part of Hell, and just thinking about his family having to come here struck him. "Do you think... Would we... Adam?" Although a disjointed request, the hunter could see the understanding in Crowley's eyes.

Shaking his head, the King of Hell claimed they couldn’t save him, and left it at that. Pointing down the corridor, he then quietly stated they were close to the torture chambers. Before moving on, he warned Dean that there were other dark things lurking these halls, things that could make a pious man kill his own god.

The two men slowly navigated through Hell, weapons drawn. Bone-shattering screams ripped through the place, growing louder with each step. Soon, they found themselves in a long corridor, a monstrous bolted door at the end. They knew they had reached the place.

Heart thudding against his chest, Dean forced the fear back down, tightening his grip on both Ruby's blade and his gun. Mouth dry, the man pressed forwards, images of Alistair invading his mind. Hooks, chains, blood and blades. He remembered it all. Each step weighed heavily on his chest, as if he was being crushed.

Chewing his bottom lip, the man sought comfort in Crowley's presence. At least with the King of Hell by his side he didn't have to worry about being flayed alive; he had some supporters out there. The demon's level breath and echoing footsteps reminded the hunter that he wasn't alone, but he would've much preferred a friends' company. Like Sammy or Cas.

As the two men moved forwards, Dean could feel the ground beneath him shake. Every step he took, the doors grew further away. The screams continued, intensified, but no matter how fast he walked, he moved nowhere.

Suddenly, the scream's voice changed. It was recognisable, deep, interrupted with swear words and the cried name of someone. "Sammy!" Blood frozen, Dean stopped. It was his voice. His scream. His time in Hell.

Something touched his arm, but nothing could break through the hunter's daze. Blood, chains, hooks. The year before his rescue.

"Fight it, Dean."

His time in Hell broke him. Every day a new form of torture, breaking him. Dean knew he was becoming tainted, demonic.

"Step forwards, Dean."

Something nagged at him. Maybe he had been right before, maybe he didn't deserve to be saved.

"One step at a time. Slowly."

Tightening gripped his chest. No, he had done good. Hell, he was the best damn hunter in the world. He had stopped the Apocalypse, beaten Leviathans and gathered the best team, no... family, anyone could ask for.

"Continue to think positively, Dean. You can do it."

A gruff sound chipped at the hunter's subconscious. Something that linked to Hell through him. Light began to fill the dark corridor, a piercing ring. Stepping forwards, he reached out.

"You can beat it, Righteous One."

With each step, Dean's heart began to lighten. His mind became his own again. He began to run. All doubt had left and he could see everything for what it was. Crowley was running beside him, both so close to the doors.

Reaching the entrance, they left the glow. Spinning around, Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel's sad smile, before the phantom turned and faded away.

Watching the hunter turn back around, Crowley gave him a slight nod. He didn't want to know what Dean had seen, it was too personal. Too deep. The demon knew that, whatever Dean saw here, he had probably buried it long ago. All that mattered was that he had found something to hold onto, to beat the corridor's grip on them.

Clearing his throat, Crowley placed both hands on the giant doors and pushed. Where they touched, the dark wood burned and crumbled away revealing blackness comparable to nothing on earth.

Tentatively stepping forth, the two prepared for resistance, for demons to pour forwards. Nothing. The further they walked into the dread place, the more they could feel it, hear it. Crying, screaming.

Flicking his hand, Crowley lit the room. Above them was a never ending shadow, full of the damned, pierced and suspended on hooks like meat. Rows upon rows of chained doors lined either side of the room, behind each a different torture, a different evil. It made Dean's skin crawl knowing what was happening to the poor souls. He had endured each pain; Alistair had been thorough.

However, the pièce de résistance in this level of Hell was the creature at the end of it. Bound in chains, as if crucified, a young woman hung, head lulled to one side. Giant matted wings, pierced with hooks, were spread the breadth of the evil chamber. Porcelain skin scarred and bloody, there was no way the poor creature could be alive.

Swallowing back his fury, Dean forced himself to look away. It was only Crowley's certainty that pushed him forwards. "She's- it's alive, don't worry about that." The King of Hell continued towards the angel and began to issue orders to the chains, which fell away with each word.

As the poor creature fell from her bindings, Dean just managed to catch her. Kneeling on the floor, the hunter lay her down and checked for a pulse... Or whatever an angel had. It was weak, but there. Brushing her matted dark hair from her face, the man could see the scars from her time here, the horrific trauma on an otherwise beautiful being.

Glancing around, Crowley frowned; this had all been too easy. Helping Dean lift the creature, the King of Hell could hear something other than screaming. Pulling a small ring from his pocket, the demon put it on. If the angels knew he had this... It didn't bear thinking about.

"How do we get out? I'm guessing it's not the same as the way in." The human struggled under the giant wings. Why could he see them now, anyway?

Growls grew from the shadows. Holding his breath, Crowley gripped the ring. "You have to go without me." The hounds were not the only things guarding this place, and he would be damned if he let all of their efforts go to waste. Abbadon didn't have that much power over Hell, did she?

There was no way Dean was gonna let Crowley be broken again. Using his free arm, the hunter grabbed the King of Hell's. "I ain't lettin' Sammy's hard work get wasted. Now, how're we getting out?" This angel was getting pretty heavy.

Sighing, the demon nodded. Dean had no idea what monster guarded this place, or what this ring could do. Taking a deep breath, Crowley pulled out a small flower which began to burn. "Retro unde venerant ad nos, et ad terram viventium." As it burned, the room filled with a thick grey smoke.

In the distance, the growls became louder. Not removing his hand from Crowley's arm, Dean stepped closer to the King of Hell. "Get us out of here, man."

Gripping the ring, Crowley spoke again. "Ego eieci Salomon omnia dæmonia, tolle est terra hominem!" Suddenly, an eruption of light blinded them and sent them flying across the chamber.

Coughing, Dean rolled onto his side and wiped his eyes, letting them adjust to this new place. Clambering off of the wet concrete, the hunter gripped his ribs. They were back in Kansas, at the farm. Limping over to the angel, he carefully lifted her from the ground and placed her into the Impala.

Surprised he had not heard Crowley's complaints, Dean glanced towards the demon. He lay frozen, still gripping the ring. Hurrying over to him, the hunter knelt down. The demon was burning hot and still alive. "What the..." Lifting the demon over his shoulder, he placed him in the passenger seat. This was gonna be Hell to explain away to Sammy.

Arriving back at the batcave, Dean struggled in with the angel, leaving Crowley in the car. It wasn't that the hunter didn't like the demon, now, but angels would always come first, dicks or not.

As he reached the main room, Dean spotted his brother drinking a coffee, still trailing over the books. "Yo, Sammy, can you... Uh, help?" The sudden appearance of his brother startled the younger man, who spilt his coffee over half the books.

"Crap!" Hurriedly wiping up the mess, the giant glanced over. "Please tell me a spell backfired and now Crowley is a chick with wings." Sam knew that it wasn't totally impossible, and it was better than thinking about what Dean may've actually done. Like, running off to Hell and breaking an angel out.

Shaking his head, Dean limped off to find the girl a bedroom. Returning without the angel, the hunter raised his hands in surrender, "Yeah yeah, Sam. Can we have this out later? I've got a paralysed Crowley ridin' shotgun at the moment."

Putting his disappointment aside, Sam cleaned up the angel. As he bathed the poor girl's wounds, the giant hunter forgot about his illness and focussed on hers. Each wound he bathed reminded him about his time with Lucifer, and how Adam was still suffering.

Slowly, the angel’s eyelids fluttered open and gazed up at the man. “You came for me.” Raising her thin hand, the angel placed it upon Sam’s face. A slight glow wrapped the hunter, warmth filling him.

Swallowing, he removed her hand from his face, “Sorry, but my brother saved you, not me.” He would’ve tried, though, if Dean had asked. Now they had an injured angel and paralyzed demon.

Softly smiling, the girl nodded, “But still, thank you.” Clasping hold of the man’s giant hand, the woman winced. “I’m Nuriel…” Although the small room was lit by only a small lamp, it still overwhelmed her. All she could remember from before was falling.

Gently dabbing her face with the cloth, Sam remembered their role in her fate. If they hadn’t messed with the angels, demons would never have touched her. Now this girl was broken, vessel and angel, regardless of how you saw it.

“I’m dying.” Nuriel’s soft English accent broke the silence. Struggling, she pushed herself up and rested on the headboard. “If I don’t from my wounds, it’ll be by my own hand.” There can be no exception. An angel shall never be allowed to turn, and she could already feel the corruption boil in her.

Shaking his head, Sam looked into her dark brown eyes. “I’m not gonna let you do that.” Too many people had died because of them, he wasn’t going to just sit and watch an angel take her own life out of pride, or whatever.

Humanity’s stubbornness had always been both a gift and a curse to its people. It was what many of her brothers and sisters admired. How the human race could refuse to save themselves for the sake of belief. It was both beautiful and disgusting. “Then you or your brother must. You have no idea what evils I will commit if I’m allowed to live.”

She couldn’t be an Archdemon already, could she? “Please, let us try to help. Let me help. Give me a day.”

Softly smiling, the angel bit her lip. She did not reply, allowing the man to continue working on her wounds. As he moved onto her wings, Sam noted their underlying beauty, like an eagle’s. It broke the man’s heart to think back to how he once loved the idea of angels, to see broken ones bought him unspeakable pain.

Coughing, the hunter was suddenly dropped back into reality. Copper tainted his mouth as he swallowed back more choking. Glancing at the young woman, he noticed her concerned expression. Giving her his brightest smile, Sam tapped her shoulder. “It’s just a cold.” Nuriel could see straight past the lie, but said nothing.

Leaning against the wall in Crowley’s room, Dean faced the bed, the demon’s frozen form still in that strange position, holding a ring. Curious, the hunter stepped forwards and tried to remove the trinket. It was easier than expected, and soon he was researching its meanings.

The thing was a small golden signet ring, a familiar design engraved on it. Now sat in the main chamber of the batcave, the man flicked through papers. Dean couldn’t put his finger on what was nagging at him.

“Hey.” Standing beside him, Sam was going to tell him off for going to Hell, but the jewel distracted him. Picking it up, he examined it. “Star of David… Where’d you get this?”

Glancing up, Dean snatched it back to examine further. Great, now he felt like an idiot. “I got it off Crowley. He was holdin’ it when he froze.” Continuing to flick through the books, the older Winchester passed his brother one. At least with Sammy helping there was a chance of finding out what it was.

As the two read, Sam stumbled upon something. The Seal of Solomon, only useable by the king himself, could control and trap demons at will. Why did Crowley have the King of Jerusalem’s ring?

As the two men discussed it between themselves, something struck them. Dean began rolling off his theories. “If it’s the ring that froze old red-eyes, and Solomon is the only one who can use it-“

“-Yeah, it means Crowley is probably King Solomon.” It felt strange to Sam saying it, and opened up questions about Fergus. But demons lie, and with Cas’ help, Crowley was capable of anything back then. Even humans can fake a past life.

The main question they both wanted to ask was how such a holy man had become a demon. But before they could, they would have to unfreeze him.

Checking the time, Sam stood and excused himself. Heading over to Nuriel’s room, the giant tried to think of a way to prove she wasn’t corrupted. Slowly opening the door, the hunter set eyes upon the angel, who was clasping her throat. Unsure of what he was seeing, Sam stepped forwards.

Suddenly the picture became all too clear. Dark red liquid poured between her fingers as she gripped her throat. Diving forwards, Sam helped hold her wound. “H-Had to.” Was all Nuriel could gurgle, before her body fell limp into the pillows.

Welling up with tears, Sam released her neck and cradled her body. “Dean!” The man cried out, trying to get his brother’s attention.

Skidding through the door, Dean saw his blood soaked brother cradling the angel. Shaking his head, the older hunter glanced around for something to wipe the blood up. What he found, however, was better than that. Picking up a small glowing vile and paper, he passed them to Sam and carried Nuriel away to the morgue.

Wiping away his tears, the giant hunter read the note.

 

_\- I know who you are, Sam, and I must thank you for all your sacrifices._

_You and your brother are an example of why humanity should not be underestimated. Thank Dean for me, and that other man, whoever he may be, but I could not be saved, not truly. Please tell Castiel that I forgive him, but the three free archangels will not. They are all that’s left and one has already begun the prophecy. Protect my brother._

_I chose to die this way to go back home and leave you a gift. In the vile is my grace, weak but pure. Sam Winchester, drink it. Let it heal you. Allow me to do this for you and your brother, for saving me and protecting Castiel._

_Your ever thankful Nuriel. -_

 

Speechless, Sam folded the note and examined the vile. It felt wrong profiting from someone else’s death, but she would’ve done it anyway. Nausea swept over him again, as if answering his doubts. Unable to fight it, he popped the cork off of the vile and drank the grace. It felt wrong, an evil thing to do, but the glowing heat that ran through his veins felt right.

Every old scar burned and disappeared. Every painful memory tinted gold. It was as if he had taken a miracle cure. Yes, he still needed to cough, but his nagging headache was fading and he felt he could run a marathon. He hadn’t felt this good since he had drank a demon’s blood from the source. Nothing had compared, until this.

Letting his head drop back, the hunter began to remember why he had stopped. Drinking an angel’s grace was worse than drinking a demon’s blood. Clenching his eyes shut, the man thought of how Castiel would feel if he found out.

Showering, Sam rinsed off the blood and gathered his thoughts. It didn’t matter; Dean and Crowley had stopped the creation of an Archdemon, and found a way to cure him. All they had to think about was waking Crowley up, Crowley who happened to be King Solomon.

Stepping from the shower’s heat, Sam wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door, revealing a frowning Dean waiting in the corridor. “You gonna tell me what happened, or are we gonna ignore it?”

Shaking his head, the taller man began to make his way down the corridor, brother in tow. “Nuriel killed herself by cutting out her grace. Why?”

“Anna didn’t die from it. Cas didn’t.”

“Cas was healed and Anna was in Heaven at the time. Besides, Nuriel wanted to die human.” Turning to face his older brother, Sam shrugged. “She was afraid of what she might do if she turned.”

Licking his lips, Dean glanced at the floor. “Where’s her grace now?" 

Shaking his head, Sam grabbed the note from within his armful of clothes. As Dean read it, the younger hunter tried to keep his breath level.

Emotionless, Dean folded the letter and passed it back. “Did’ya drink it, Sammy?” The sharp nod in reply forced the older hunter rub his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? How do we know it isn’t addictive, Sam?”

Shrugging, the taller man failed to reply. Dean had kept his Homeric mission secret, why didn’t Sam keep this from him? No, an eye for an eye never works.

Shaking his head, Dean copied his brother’s shrug. “I guess… What’s done is done, man. Let’s hope this don’t bite us on the ass. But I trust you.”

That night, Sam dreamed of Nuriel in Heaven beside Gabriel, Balthazar and even Samandriel. It was a beautiful dream that felt so real he knew it would break his heart to wake up.


	8. Eyes

_"You have the eyes of a killer, but the innocence of a monk."_

Nothing but the yellow glow of a desk lamp lit Adrian's classroom. Breathing shallow, the teacher stared at the crumpled note in his hand. Each name on it was marked with a red x. Every name bar his. Adrian Harris was the last. Shoving the note back into his jacket, he rushed to pack his briefcase.

Growling rumbled through the empty classroom, freezing the chemistry teacher in his place. "Please don't kill me." Panic made his heart race, words coming out shakily. No matter what he did, he didn't deserve this, did he? There was no way the murderer would see that, though.

"Do you know who wrote that list?"

Adrian couldn't bring himself to look at the creature as he panted out his answer, "Laura- Laura Hale."

"Do you know why she was looking for you?" Heart in his throat, the teacher shook his head. He was going mad. The rumbling voice wasn't natural. "I know why. Turn around Adrian." Wracked with disbelief, the man couldn't. He just couldn't. "Turn around and I'll show you." There was no way he could face this. He knew what he did, why rub it in his face? "Turn around!"

Cracking, Adrian frantically shook his head, "No, please." Panting, the man couldn't. The house. Those poor people.

"Look at me. Look at what you've done." Fury filled the monster's voice.

Biting his tongue, Adrian attempted to steady his breathing. Suddenly, a chair smashed into the wall. Sobbing, the teacher whispered for God.

"Get down!" Another deep, but unfamiliar, voice broke through, its owner dragging him down into a crouch. Heavy footsteps shook the ground. Another chair flew across the room. Glancing up, both the teacher and his saviour glanced up. They were alone, the door swinging on its hinges.

Immediately, police sirens filled the air, their bright lights shining through the classroom window. Jumping up from Adrian's level, Derek huffed. He had no choice but to run, abandoning his pursuit of the Alpha.

Leaving Harris in the dark class, Derek sped from the school. Heart thumping, the werewolf clambered over a high fence. Though the two police cars went the long way round, they still swerved towards him as he landed. Running straight towards them, he dove across the hood of one, and continued down the road.

Heart beating against its cage, the young man stormed ahead, taking any turn he could to lose his pursuers. With two cop cars on his tail, Derek found himself leading them through what seemed to be a construction site. Lights sped past him as his feet beat against the floor, each breath steady.

Suddenly, the werewolf had to swerve to avoid the oncoming Tahoe. Continuing on, Derek fled toward the ironworks. He didn't know how long he could hold out this pace. Sure, he was a werewolf, but that didn't mean he could outrun a car for long. All the beta could hope for was Scott and Stiles to pull through.

Kate had been in pursuit of the Camaro for fifteen minutes already, no idea that it was a newbie werewolf and his hyperactive friend behind the wheel. So, when she got the intel that Derek wasn't the one driving, the hunter was pissed. The car sped on, getting faster the closer to the ironworks they got.

On Derek's end, the police had abandoned their cars, and let loose their hounds. Even as they caught up with the werewolf, he was confident in his actions. Spinning around, he bent low, erupting with a deep and ferocious growl. Sending the dogs fleeing, Derek continued to run, unable to treasure the moment.

Foot on the gas, Scott raced Kate, attempting to lose her. Filled with a cold determination, the woman had other ideas, keeping tucked in close. It was as if the Camaro's driver wanted to get caught, and that's what she'd do.

Stiles had no idea why, in a chase like this, Scott was holding back. Hearts racing, the human glanced behind them. "Hey Scott, I don't think you're grasping the concept of the car chase, here."

"If I go faster I'll kill us."

"Well, if you don't go faster they're gonna kill us."

On that, Scott stomped on the gas, blasting them forwards. As if by magic, their pursuer gave up chase, and disappeared into the darkness.

Pulling back, Kate let the Camaro go. She had bigger dogs to kill than this.

Using a stolen police radio, Stiles grabbed intel that the chase had headed into the ironworks. This is what being spies must feel like, he reasoned. This whole night was like one long action movie, and he was pretty sure is was worse than this for Derek.

Derek, the werewolf who was, at that moment, being shot at with explosive bolts. Disoriented, he tried to gather himself and spot his attacker. Up in the scaffolding a shadowy figure prepared to shoot again, making the beta dive around a pile of wood, just missed by another bolt.

Reloading his crossbow, Chris watched as Derek ducked away, obviously still reeling from the flash. Suddenly, two headlights burst into sight and the scream of tyres followed. Dropping the crossbow, Chris picked up his machine gun. As Derek fled towards the car, the hunter shot a trail behind him. Unable to stop the werewolf, the man swore, and hurriedly packed his gun away.

Speeding away, Scott yelled at Derek, "What point of laying low don't you understand?" He and Stiles put their asses on the line to pull him out of the fire, but they couldn't be there all the time.

However, the older werewolf seemed more concerned with what he had been doing. Every damn time he got close the Alpha, it was made impossible to kill him. The slippery bastard was making this town his personal hunting ground, and there was no way that he would get away with it for any longer. "Dammit! I had him."

"Who? The Alpha?" Intrigued, Stiles leant between the two betas to participate. Any news on the Alpha was good. Sure, it was kinda horrible that they were getting so close to the monster, but at least they'd be able to get it when the time came.

After several, scary, Derek-rants later, and the usual confrontation about trust, Stiles could finally say that they were all on the same page. Apparently, Derek's recently murdered sister, Laura, had found two things: their chemistry teacher, Harris and a symbol. The exact one on a necklace Scott had seen worn by Allison. How the two were linked was still a mystery to the men, but it was more intel than they had before, which was something.

Back at the ironworks, the brother and sister hunter duo stood beside their cars. Sighing, Kate began inspecting one of her pistols. The hunt was fun if you won, but when your quarry is a hell load smarter than you thought, it leaves you feeling kinda stuck. Sure, she'd never admit it, but this target was worse than she had expected.

Chris, however, was of a lighter disposition. Yes, he was pissed that he hadn't even hit the guy, and that they had been outsmarted by Derek Hale, but someone had to keep the balance. Deep down, he knew there was something dark about his sister. She wanted to kill, that was why she hunted. Chris did it because it was the right thing to do, to protect the humans around them. But he'd never say that, this was his family's business after all. 

From the darkness, the growl of an old car broke the silence. Straightening up, the two Argents shifted to let the Dodge park up next to them. Climbing out of the car, Justin raised an eyebrow at Kate, "That went badly, I guess."

"You could say that again." Sighed Chris as he packed his weapons away.

Stepping in close to Justin, Kate placed a hand on his firm chest. "Lemme guess, yours went perfectly?" One of them had to have succeeded somewhere, even if it wasn't really a big job.

Placing his hands upon Kate's hips, he began to pull her closer, "Of course it did. My target likes me." Tilting his head, Chris wasn't sure if the guy was about to make out with Kate, or eat her. Or if she'd eat him, for that matter.

"Hopefully not too much." Grinned Kate, dragging him into a kiss. Uncomfortable with the close interaction between his sister and her fiancé, Chris decided it was time to go home. Jumping in his Tahoe, he watched as the other two reluctantly pulled away to follow suit. Public displays of affection were uncomfortable at the best of times, but when it's your sister and her partner, it makes it fifty times more awkward.

The next morning, at the hospital, Jackson Whittemore sat waiting for his appointment with the doctor. His illness had become unbearable, he was becoming feverish and couldn't concentrate. And to mention the nightmares. Every night the same thing. Screaming, fire. The smell of burning flesh. The boy couldn't take it anymore. Whatever Derek had done to him, he wanted it over.

Finally called into the room, the boy checked his watch. Great, he was gonna miss his first lesson. Stepping into the dark room, he explained to the doctor that he had been scratched a few days back and it seemed infected.

Removing his shirt, he lay on his front as the doctor inspected the wound on his neck. "What did you say scratched you?" The confusion in the doctor's voice concerned the boy, surely it wasn't that important _what_ had scratched him, just the infection it had caused.

 

\- _As Derek brushed past him, Jackson grabbed his shoulder. "I'm not done here." In a flash, the older man was spinning around and slamming the other guy into the lockers. Eyes squeezed shut, Jackson panicked. This junkie was gonna kill him, he knew it._

_A piercing pain shot through his neck, where Derek had grip. As the older guy ran off, Jackson stared on in disbelief. Brushing his fingers against the painful area, the boy realised they were covered in blood. What the hell? -_

"Ah, it was just- just an animal." Derek was more animal then human, so he wasn't really lying. At least, the doctor didn't need to know the truth... That much of it, anyway. Uncomfortable with the new silence, Jackson began to get agitated. "Look, can you hurry this up? I'm missing first period." God he hated hospitals. 

The touch of a gloved hand on his neck was uncomfortable. "Have you had trouble sleeping lately?"

Confused, Jackson frowned. "Kind of... I've been having dreams."

"Dreams, or nightmares?"

Stunned, the boy was unsure what to think. "Uh, nightmares." How was that relevant? All he wanted was to get out of there, go to class or something. "About... a fire. This- this house and I can hear screaming and there're, like- what does this have to do with anything?"

The scrape of metal rang through the room, breaking through Jackson's confused daze. "Nothing, I hope." As the boy glanced to the side, he spotted a pair of sharp tongs glinting in the doctor's hand.

Panicking, the boy pushed off of the table. "What's that?"

"Just taking a closer look."

As the doctor gripped Jackson's neck, the boy struggled. "Look, I re- really don't have much time-"

"Just hold still."

Panic filled the boy, he just wanted to leave. "Wait, I thought you were just gonna take a look."

"Yes, but in order to do that I might have to dig a little deeper." Frozen in fear, Jackson could do was stare ahead. He could hear the clinking of tools. Did this doctor really know what he was doing? He knew he should've gone private.

Trembling, the boy turned his head to see the doctor switch from one nasty tool to another. Although he couldn't resist the urge to run, he was paralysed with fear. As the doctor tested a particularly nasty pair of tongs, Jackson tried to lift himself further off of the table. "What are those?" Were they sanitary? He shouldn't be here. He should be in class.

A firm hand forced him back down, "Holding still, please." Suddenly, a sharp pain shot down Jackson's spine, the doctor piercing his neck.

To Jackson, it became one terrible nightmare, where Derek was tearing at his neck, pulling out chunks of purple petals from the wound. Frantically trying to get away, the boy was pinned in place, unable to do anything but flail. 

Suddenly, Jackson’s eyes jolted open. “Right, you can put your shirt back on now. The scabs on your neck are nothing to worry about.” The doctor was busy jotting something down on a clipboard when the boy sat up.

It was much brighter in the room now, and it left Jackson feeling slightly dazed. Lacrosse! Ever since the scratch his skills on the field had been hindered. “So I’m okay for my game tonight?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely but I do wanna give you an antibiotic. Have you been eating any strange herbs lately?” Tearing off the prescription slip, the old man passed the boy it.

“Like what?”

“Well, you have aconite poisoning.” It was strange, in all the doctor’s years, he had never seen someone survive it. Then again, this was Beacon Hills, he had seen plenty of strange things in his years here.

“What the hell is aconite?”

“Well, it’s a purple flower also called monkshood or w-”

“Wolfsbane.”

“Yes, so you are familiar with it then?”

Nervously touching his neck, Jackson shook his head. “No, I- I have no idea how I knew that.”

Thanking the doctor for the prescription, the boy rushed from the room, desperate to be out of there, he needed to find out what the Hell was going on. Tugging on his leather jacket, Jackson gritted his teeth. Mind reeling, he dreaded having to deal with a lesson next to Dumb and Dumber.

Wolfsbane still nagging on his mind, Jackson arrived at the Ancient Histories class early, everyone else still in first period. Without knocking, the boy entered the class and sat down near the back. The confused teacher frowned at him from his desk, but said nothing.

Pulling out a notepad, Whittemore scribbled down everything he knew about wolfsbane, but came up a blank. Derek scratched him and he was poisoned with wolfsbane. Wolfsbane. “Wolfsbane, also known as ‘Queen of the Poisons’ is a deadly plantae once used to kill wolves. Hence the name.” The low gravelly voice startled the boy, who dropped his pen.

From the corner of his eye, Jackson watched as Mr Novak scooped it up. Placing it on the desk, the teacher then moved back to the front of the class. Frowning, the younger male sat back in his chair and watched as the dark haired man began writing on the chalk board. The guy was a Replicant.

After an uncomfortable few minutes, Castiel sighed, “Please stop staring at me.” Perhaps he could convince Gabriel to get him a job where he didn’t have to deal with teenagers, demons are easier.

“Oh! God, no. I- I wasn’t staring, sir.” After receiving an unconvincing nod of acceptance, the boy realised who he was talking to. Mr Novak was the one teacher who might know about it. Standing from his desk, he initiated his charm technique. “You know… I was wondering if you knew of any… I don’t know-”

“I will not procure any narcotics for you, Mr Whittemore.”

Pursing his lips, Jackson wasn’t whether the guy was joking or not. “Um, no, I wanted to know if you knew any creatures linked to wolfsbane. You know, in myth.”  

With one curt nod, the teacher sighed. “It both repels and poisons werewolves. When injected into the bloodstream will cause a fever, erratic behaviour and, eventually, death. Sometimes it can- it was said that, when mixed correctly, it can cause one to turn without the moon or rage or…” Realising he had said too much, Castiel fell silent and watched as his student gazed into the distance, thought creasing his brow.

Both men sat in silence, Jackson eventually taking place back at his desk. Mind spinning, the boy flicked through the new information. Now that he thought about it, it was logical. Head in his hands, he thought back to when Derek scratched him. The creep had been freakishly pale and sweaty, panting out his demands for McCall. It made sense thinking back on it. Then there was the giant wolf-man at the video store, Stilinski’s car being wrecked… it was all adding up and Scott was part of it.

Scott was a werewolf.

Breaking Jackson from his thoughts, Stilinski’s voice entered the room. The gangly boy was accompanied by his werewolf friend. They always looked up to something, even before Scott’s ‘improvements’, so he wasn’t really worried about what they had to say.

Last night had been awful, Stiles only had four hours sleep and he was feeling it. “Just, you know, get close to her or something.”

Sighing, Scott dropped his bag onto his usual desk. “How? We’re on a break, I can hardly go up to her and say, ‘Hey Allison, can I borrow your necklace? I just need to see if your family murdered Derek’s.’” Sometimes his best friend needed to think things through. There was no way Allison would just give him the necklace, they were barely even talking.

Huffing, Stiles sat in his seat, “Then get creative, man.”

At the front of the class, Mr Novak had begun handing out envelopes with each student’s assignments. Taking this as his opportunity, Jackson leant across his desk towards the other two boys. “I know what you are, McCall.”

“Wha- What?” Surprised and terrified by the random statement, Scott spun around.

Huh, if McCall thought he was being cute, or whatever, he wasn’t. “I know what you are.” No doubt Stilinski knew too, so having him listen in meant nothing. Scott was just gonna tell him after anyway.

“S-Sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Glancing towards Stiles, the werewolf and his best friend exchanged terrified looks. For once, Stiles could say nothing, it wasn’t that it wasn’t his place, but he physically couldn’t speak.   

Rolling his eyes, Jackson wouldn’t admit it, but he was kinda impressed by how long they could keep up the charade. “Yeah, yeah you do. And, uh, here’s the thing: However it is you came to be what you are… you’re gonna get it for me too.” There was no way he was gonna be the underdog to Scott McCall. No. Way.

Heart in his throat, Scott knew it wasn’t working. His life was over, officially over. The moment Jackson got in on the curse was the moment Scott was dead meat. “Get what for you?”

Tired of this, Jackson flicked his attention between both McCall and Stilinski, before grabbing the werewolf’s arm. “Whatever it is, a bite, a scratch, sniffing magic fairy dust under the moonlight. I don’t care, you’re gonna get it for me, or, uh, Allison’s gonna find out too.” It was actually seeing Dumb and Dumber crack, staring at him with disbelief. Reclining back into his chair, Jackson raised an eyebrow and began to read his assignment.

Unable to blink, Scott turned back around to face the front of the class. Why couldn’t life be simple? He was failing school, being hunted by a big bad wolf and Allison hated him. How could this be fair?

Shaking his head, Stiles patted his friend on the arm, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, man.” There was nothing useful he could say in class, or he’d just be playing into Jackson’s hands.

From the front of the class, Castiel had attempted to ignore the exchange between the boys. It wasn’t his place to pry, especially when he was trying to keep out of any packs. If being an omega meant he didn’t have to kill anymore, then it was fine.

Mr Novak explained to the class that each student had an ancient historical figure and were to research them. They all would have to design a historically accurate outfit, house and a day-in-the-life journal entry. Extra marks would be given to creativity and additional work.

Glancing down, Stiles grinned when he realised he had gotten Emperor Augustus. Flashing the card at Scott, the werewolf sighed and revealed his was some dude called ‘Ovid’.

Watching the confusion on many of his students’ faces prompted him to explain further. “You have access to this classroom every lunch and until six in the evening, and any resources here.” Gabriel had told him to base his teaching style on hunting. “You may get help or ask to collaborate, if that is how you best learn.”

As Mr Novak explained further, Jackson decided to utilize Scott’s superpowers. “Scott, hey, Scott. Can you hear me? You can, can’t you?” Whispering, his words were beyond inaudible to the humans in the room, but hit Scott like a brick wall.

Turning to Stiles, the werewolf forced the boy to discuss a potential collaboration. It was obvious what he was doing, but he couldn’t bear listening to Jackson.

“You’re trying to pretend not to- to hear me?”

Heart racing, Scott was beginning to panic. “We should ask Mr Novak to, uh, let us work together on- on your person. You know, cuz mine’s awful.”

Scoffing, Stiles looked taken aback. “How dare you! Ovid was a genius, you know, inspiring Shakespeare and Dante! Dante’s Inferno is awesome, by the way.” Playing along with it, the human rambled on about the levels of Hell.

“So, what else can you do? Can you see any better and are you stronger, more powerful? Now, I knew there was no way you suddenly got that good at lacrosse. Which- Which means you’re actually a cheater, aren’t you? Huh, can you even play lacrosse?”

Anger boiling within him, Scott gripped the edge of the desk, nearly cracking it. “Yes.” He can play lacrosse. It wasn’t his fault he’s like this. It was part of him. You need a brain, tactics, to be able to get across the field, so yeah, he can play.

“I bet my new co-captain is gonna score a whole bunch of goals tonight, aren’t you? And, while you’re pretending not to be a lying cheater, I’m gonna ruin your life if you don’t give me what I want. And, you know what I’m gonna start with? Her.”

Suddenly, a shadow appeared above Jackson. Glancing up, the boy saw Mr Novak looming over him. “Come with me, Mr Whittemore. Now.” Although the commanding rumble of the adult’s voice stopped his heart, Jackson never stopped smirking. He knew that soon he’d get what he wanted, or he’d wreak havoc.

Gathering his things, the boy followed his teacher from the room. Shutting the door behind them, Castiel turned to him. “When you are in my class, you will refrain from taunting Mr McCall. Do you understand?” The boy nodded. “Do not return to my classroom until your lunchtime detention.”

Frowning, Jackson stood aimless. “Where am I gonna go?”

“Anywhere out of my sight.” Disappearing back into the room, Castiel wandered around the class, assisting the students identify the best books to use for their assignment. He wasn’t going to admit it, but it had felt good to be surrounded by the bustle of research. It reminded him of when Sam and Bobby would trawl through ancient papers.

Outside of the class, Jackson watched through the door window. Teacher or not, that guy was a dick. Something else about him nagged at the boy. How had he heard something meant only for Scott? Eyes widening in realisation, Jackson licked his lips. Mr Novak was a werewolf too! How was that fair?  It was also hilarious, really. The nerds and lame-asses were being made ‘perfect’. Well, as perfect as _they_ can be.

Making his way out, Jackson noticed Allison spending her free at her usual bench. Plastering a grin on his face, the boy waved. “Hey, ’s anyone sitting here?” Taking his place opposite her, he glanced up to the classroom window. They were literally only a few paces from it and Scott could definitely see them. “D’you get the Ancient Histories assignment yet?”

Smiling, Allison nodded from her book and pulled out her envelope. “Uh. yeah, mine is… ‘Turia: the perfect Roman wife’, you?”

“Mine’s ‘Alfred the Great’. Honestly, I have no idea who the guy is.” Both of them laughed and joked about the project for a good few minutes. Hell, it was genuinely fun to hang out with her. “So, you’re coming to the game tonight, right?” Let’s see who she cheers for now, Scott.

Dropping her eyes down to the table, Allison frowned. “I was thinking no.” She was in a difficult situation, her friends were playing, but so was her ex, who might be… upset if she just turned up.   

“You have to. We win tonight, we’re in the semi-finals.” As she turned away, he knew he was breaking through the barrier. “I mean, it’s not because of Scott, right?”

“I was thinking it might be a little weird.”

After several lies, Jackson had managed to convince the girl to watch the game. It would be a good incentive for Scott to get him what he wanted. This was what it’s all about, Allison was just collateral.

As lunch began, Castiel sat at his desk rummaging through paperwork. That was one thing that had him confused about humanity; there were people to do the angelic paperwork, as a human you had to do everything yourself, which was probably why it was completely disorganized. Accidentally running his thumb along the edge of a sheet, he felt a sharp slicing sensation. “Crap!”

Sucking his thumb, the werewolf glanced at the clock and sighed; Jackson should’ve been there already. Shaking his head, Cas checked his wound and found it had healed. Smile tugging on the edge of his lips, he remembered that, as a monster, he had gained expedited healing. It wasn’t the same as not feeling physical pain, but it was the next best thing.

“See? There’s a silver lining to all that cloud.” Suddenly, Gabriel appeared, leaning on the doorframe. As he stepped into the room, the Archangel dragged a mop and bucket along with him. “Whatya doing?” Keeping up the façade, he began to mop, eyes never leaving his brother.

Sighing, Castiel leant back into his chair, “I’m not really sure, I never trained to be a teacher. I don’t understand half of what everyone is saying.” For the first time in weeks, humour lined the werewolf’s voice. He may not have accepted his fate completely, but he was getting used to it. Werewolves had to keep calm lest they devour their families. Castiel couldn’t imagine how heartbroken he would be if Dean or Sam were forced to hunt him, to see him like this.

Pulling out a jawbreaker from thin air, Gabriel laughed, “You’ll get used to it Cassie-boy.” Licking the sweet, he perched on the desk opposite his brother. “I was thinking… You should get out.”

Frowning, the werewolf was struck by confusion. “This is my classroom. You obtained it for me.”

Sighing, the older man shook his head. Angel, human or werewolf, Cas was unable to socialise like a normal person. C’mon, none of their other siblings talk like that. “I meant date, man. God, you’re more clueless than Coach.” Ahh, the pranks he had pulled on that guy, especially the car one.

Eyes wide, Castiel licked his lips. “I… No. I can’t date anyone. I don’t know anyone who would, uh, want me.”

Chuckling, Gabriel shook his head, lopsided smirk on his face. “Oh, I do.” If he told him, though, that would ruin the game. “C’mon, bro. If the amount of students fawning over you isn’t an indicator, then that hot nurse is.”

Unsure of his brother’s meaning, Castiel frowned and scanned his memories. He was well aware of the infatuations of teenage girls, but he couldn’t think of a nurse that liked him in that way. “Meg is dead, and was a demon, Gabriel. We couldn’t ever-“

“Whoa there cowboy! You dated monster Meg? Luci lover? Hell man, you really did fall.”

Tilting his head, the werewolf, pouted. “She cared for me when others wouldn’t.” When he had no one, a demon protected him. She never took advantage of his powers and vulnerability when she could’ve. She helped defeat the Leviathans. She gave her life for him and the Winchesters. And he was forever thankful to her.

Shaken by the previous revelation, Gabriel bought them back on track. “I meant Nurse McCall. That chick is so hot on you.” Watching his baby brother’s eyes go wide and cheeks redden, the Archangel knew he was on target. “C’mon man, she gave you her number and is very, very grateful for you saving her son.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Castiel glanced up at the clock, Jackson was really quite late. Squinting at his brother, the werewolf seceded. “Okay.”

“Really? You’ll do it?”

“But I believe you are mistaken about her desire for me.”

“Trust me, Cassie, I know chicks.” Getting up, the older brother dragged his mop and bucket out. “Ask her out for dinner for tomorrow night.” The Archangel called out, before disappearing into the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel fumbled for his phone and found her number programmed in already. Damn it Gabriel. Dialling the number, it took a few rings before she answered. “Hello? This is Castiel Novak…”

“Ah! How are you now? You left so fast I couldn’t make sure-”

“I am fine, thank you. I was wondering… I wanted to know… May I take you out for dinner tomorrow?”

“Oh! Wow. Uh, yes! Of course. I- I mean, I’d love that.”

For a few minutes they conversed, arranging their date, and Melissa joking about how awkward Castiel was. Talking to a normal human without the stress of the supernatural made him feel comfortable. Maybe Gabriel was right, Cas did need this.

As the werewolf hung up, he noticed Jackson walk in. Frowning deeply, the teacher watched his student sit at the desk in front of him. “You’re late.”

Shrugging, the boy smirked. “And? It’s not like your kind don’t break the rules.”

Tired of the boy, Castiel grit his teeth, “If you know what I am, then you’d be well advised not to push me.”

“What you gonna do? Gimme bad grades? Eat me? C’mon old man, you gotta do better than that.”

Standing, the werewolf shut the classroom door, before turning to his student. Placing both hands on the desk between them, Castiel leant in close. “You are an insolent child playing at power. Believe me; you will regret becoming one of us.” Watching the terror rise in his student’s eyes, he leant in closer. “You have never seen a werewolf tear out the hearts of their friends and paint the walls with their blood. You have never had to. This is not a game, boy. This is real life.”

The werewolf’s breath misted against Jackson’s face as he listened. Terror paralyzed him as he stared into the other man’s eyes as they began to glow blue. His gravelly voice was level, but so threatening. However, nothing the man could say would put Jackson off. He was in this for the long haul, he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t going to be that adopted kid they expected him to be.

Stepping back, Castiel watched the boy’s cogs turn. He knew that look. An equal mix of fear and determination, something he had seen in one other. Dean. “You have a choice, Mr Whittemore, I only hope you make the right one.” Clenching his fists, the werewolf forced his fury back down, claws digging into his palms. “You are free to go.”

At the end of the school day, Stiles bundled into his room only to be confronted by Derek, again. God, he hated harbouring a psychopath, all the threats and angry glaring and the constant fear of murder. He couldn’t even have a decent conversation with the guy. What would they talk about? Moondoor? Hey Derek, have you heard about the new guild being formed? It’s called the Silver-Guard dedicated to fighting evil supernatural monsters. The queen herself set it up. Yeah, Derek would totally join in.

However, it was kinda useful him being in eyesight. At least then they could run through intel and talk through plans. Both reasoned that they needed to find out who sent Allison the text Scott apparently did that night at the school.

So there they were, Stiles, Derek and Danny, all in the Stilinki’s bedroom. Stiles was so going to Hell for using his poor gay friend and angry, athletic, werewolf frenemy for info. After arguing with Danny about the illegality of it, and the fact he only came over to do lab work. However, forcing Derek to change his shirt, Stiles let Danny gawk at the werewolf’s athletic body.

Eventually, the boy’s lab partner gave in and helped Stiles trace the text all the way to “No no no no, that can’t be right!”  The words were on the screen, ‘Account registered to: Beacon Hills Hospital - Melissa McCall’. There was no way Stiles was gonna accept that Scott’s mom was the Alpha, or in cahoots with it. Never. Nu uh.

A couple of hours later, Scott had been interrogated by Allison’s father, who had nothing but questions about his relationship with Derek. It was hard enough not bolting out of the house when the questions came, but to sound reasonable was nearly impossible.

Now wearing his lacrosse gear at the edge of the field, the werewolf was on the phone to Stiles discussing the necklace. The match was about to start and his best friend wasn’t there. “Where are you? You’re supposed to be here. You’re in first line.” A sudden slap to the side of the head made the boy aware of his coach’s presence.

“Where the Hell is Bilinski, huh?” The guy looked strung out and probably living off of energy drinks. Scott wanted to know where his best friend was too. However, neither man would’ve guessed that Stiles and Derek were sat in the Jeep outside the general hospital. They were gonna investigate the younger werewolf’s mother, there was no way they could tell him that.

Back at the field, Jackson approached Scott and sat beside him on the bench. Mr Novak’s words still ringing in his ears, the boy was hiding his concern behind a smirk. “It’s a bite that does it, doesn’t it?”

Frowning, Scott tentatively glanced around. Jackson was really grinding his gears now. The human was an idiot. Harshly replying, werewolf, grunted. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s easy.”

“No, that’s not. I can’t be the one to do it, it’s got to… ugh… it has to be an alpha.”

“Well, then you get him to do it.”

Growing even more agitated, Scott bit back. “I don’t even know who he is, okay? Just trust me it is so much more complicated then you think. There’s the- there’s others. There’s hunters.” What didn’t the human get? Being a werewolf wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. It was dangerous.

“Then, what- what hunters?”

“Werewolf hunters." Why would he be worried about or even mention another kind of hunter?

Laughing, the human shook his head. “Oh my god, you gotta be kidding me.” This was sounding more and more like an excuse. Jackson wasn’t going to be tricked easily.

“No, jerk off! There’s a whole family of them and they carry assault rifles. Don’t you get that? Assault rifles.” Glancing behind him, the werewolf’s eyes scanned the crowd, landing upon the Argents. Four of them were sat there, Allison, her dad, her aunt and some blond dude.

Following suit, Jackson realised who he was talking about. “Them?”

Realising what he had just done, the boy tried to backtrack. “What? Uh, no- no-”

“My god, that actually makes a lot of sense.” Seeing the blank look on the werewolf’s face, Jackson clarified. “Allison Argent. Oh my god, you don’t get it. You hooked up this long and you never actually asked her. Her name, idiot. Do you know what ‘argent’ means in French?” He could see Scott become more and more confused. Smirk on his face, the boy huffed out some air. “It means silver.”

Back at the hospital, Stiles was having a rough time of it. Derek was shouting at him through the phone and Mrs McCall was nowhere to be found. The place was suspiciously empty, and the boy realised it was ridiculously like the first five minutes of a mystery. The hapless victim wandering around an empty hospital gets attacked. In the next scene, Columbo is investigating their death. Yay.

“Find Jennifer, she’s been looking after my uncle.” Buzzed Derek’s voice from the other end of the line.

This was a bad, bad, bad idea. Taking a turn into Peter Hale’s room, Stiles was struck by fear. There was no one in there. There was supposed to be a comatose man, wasn’t there? It’s not like he can just go walkies. “Yeah, well, he’s not here either.” It terrified the boy to know that even Derek was shocked by the news. “He’s not here, he’s gone Derek.” The silence from Derek’s end was freaking the human out. It meant the werewolf was thinking, and that was never good.

Suddenly, Derek was ordering the boy to get out. “It’s him. He’s the alpha, get out!” But it was too late, the moment Stiles turned to run, he was faced with the once-comatose man.

“You must be Stiles.”

Everything began to click into place. Nurse Jennifer sent the text. Peter Hale was killing the people. Oh God! Pinned between two psychos, Stiles felt a panic attack coming on. The intense realisation of his own demise gripped him. But there was so much he wanted to do! Oh God…

Suddenly, Derek appeared, knocking the nurse out.

“That’s not nice, she’s my nurse.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people. Get out of the way.” There was a stark contrast in the two Hales’ voices, but Stiles didn’t hang around long enough to make comparisons, ducking out of the way.

Fury boiled within Derek, both unable and unwilling to listen to his uncle- his sister’s killer. Eyes glowing blue, he dove at the other Hale. The two fought an uneven battle, the Alpha too powerful for the beta. Stronger, Peter tossed Derek into the walls, destroying them in a cloud of plaster.

Lifting his nephew up by his throat, the Alpha attempted to softly reason with him. Nothing he could say would erase the things he did. Never. Even as he explained that he had been both physically and mentally destroyed by the fire. Each time Derek attempted to strike Peter, he was beaten down.

Reaching an examination room, the Alpha showed a true but subtle display of his new powers, healing the burns on his face. “Derek, you have to give me a chance to explain. Afterall, we’re family.” Watching the tired anger in his nephew’s face, Peter tilted his head. “However, I have a busy night ahead of me. There’s a lot to do within the length of a lacrosse game.” Leaving his nephew in the dark room, the Alpha headed out into the world, a threat to all.

On the other side of town, Castiel entered his motel room, dropping his keys and wallet on the table. Tired, the werewolf was relieved he didn’t have to watch the match. Organised sport was both boring and useless. Training was far better. It built you up and didn’t cause meaningless tension between your peers.

Dropping onto his bed, he began to remove his shoes. “Ah! Stop, I need you to go out.” Bathroom door swinging open, the werewolf was faced with his naked brother. “You need to go get us some stuff, you know, groceries.”

Shocked by his brother’s nudity, the man quickly glanced away. “Gabriel, why-“

“I love showers, Cassie. Now, go shop.”

Trying to cover his brother’s vessel’s private area with a towel, Cas was fighting the urge to punch him. “Why? You can create the things from thin air.”

Reluctantly taking the towel, Gabriel answered. “Yeah, I can, but I ain’t gonna be here all the time, man. Shoo.” C’mon, he was an angel, not a lapdog. Cassie was though, which was hilarious.

Huffing, the werewolf snatched up his keys and headed to the store. Whilst there, he gathered all the things he could think he needed. This time he did not pick up Busty Asian Beauties or pie. He didn’t see the need. Instead he chose healthy food and an adventure magazine. Gabriel refused to make something other than junk, so this would be a relief.

As Castiel reached the counter, there was a familiar scent. Very, very familiar. Ignoring it for now, the man watched the store clerk scan the groceries. “That’s twenty dollars, please.”

Tapping down his coat pockets, the werewolf suddenly realised he had left his wallet on the table back at the motel. “Ah, crap.”

Realising what happened, the clerk shrugged. “Sorry man, no money, no sale. Thems the rules.”

Slowly nodding, Castiel turned to leave. Suddenly, a calm, recognisable, voice appeared behind him. “Let me.” Spinning around, the beta set eyes upon the voice’s owner. The scent’s owner. The Alpha. The Alpha was handing money over to the clerk.  

As Peter passed the other werewolf his groceries, he noted the fear and rage in the man’s large blue eyes. “I don’t want your charity.” Spat Castiel, who attempted to throw the bags down, only to be stopped by the alpha.

“Come now, that’s no way to talk to family. Let’s go outside and talk.” Placing a hand on the small of Castiel’s back, Peter guided him out into the cold darkness of the parking lot. Facing the beta, Peter observed the restraint it was taking the other man not to turn. “I’m impressed you turned out so well.”

Growling, Castiel dropped the bags and pulled out his angel blade. “I’m not your family. You are a monster.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Alpha hid his surprise. He hadn’t expected the younger werewolf to react like that, but, then again, after the school incident, anything was possible. “I’m not here to fight you.”

“I don’t care.” Diving, forwards, the ex-angel sliced at the other man. Although his reflexes were slower than the Alpha’s, Castiel had little trouble matching his pace, even managing to strike a blow.

Suddenly, Peter gripped the beta’s wrist tight, spinning him around and pinning him close. “You are a member or _my_ pack. You will listen to me. Do you understand?”

Baring his teeth, the ex-angel tried to break free. Unable to even struggle, his arm was twisted and close to breaking. No longer restrained, the beta’s face shifted.

A smirk tugged at Peter’s lips as he witnessed his captive’s face change. “Blue eyes… not what I expected from someone like you.”

Voice rough, the beta growled. “What?”

“You have the eyes of a killer, but the innocence of a monk. Why is that?” It amused the Alpha that he had chosen the right person for the job. Soon, he wouldn’t need Jennifer.

Shifting, Castiel began to calm. As soon as his muscles relaxed and human face returned, Peter released him. Rubbing his arm, the beta crawled a few paces away and stood, facing his Alpha.

Amusedly shaking his head, Peter smiled. “I’m here to give you a choice: join my pack, have a family and all the trimmings; or die an omega, scared and alone. I want you to be a brother to me, not an enemy.” Watching the beta’s frown deepen, the Hale continued. “You have until tomorrow lunch. And don’t think you can avoid me… you’re smell is very distinctive.”

Grinding his teeth, Castiel listened to the Alpha. His family was with Sam and Dean. He didn’t need this monster and its pack. Did he? Dean was back in Kansas and would kill him should they meet again. Was that really family?

“Think about it. But you are intelligent; you’ll make the right decision.” Peter then left Castiel alone in the parking lot. Unable to think, the beta squeezed his eyes shut and slumped against Gabriel’s car. Dean would’ve known what to do. Cas just wanted to go home. Back to Kansas.


	9. Vessels

_"Well, you know what being the lover of an angel is like, don’t you?”_

With each hit Sam felt stronger, more normal. With each hit, each bead of sweat, he remembered Nuriel’s sacrifice. With each hit, he swore he’d make sure what he did would never happen again. Heavier and fiercer, the man beat the punch-bag. One one two. One one two. It was so… easy to forget. To let it go. But where would they be then? He had promised to save her, and he couldn’t even do that.

“Dude, you punch that thing any harder, the chain’s gonna break.” A deep voice interrupted the young man’s line of thought. Spinning around, he watched his older brother leaning on the doorframe wearing training gear. “You got me here in this crappy outfit, you gonna get me to do somethin’ or what?”

Nodding, Sam instructed him to hold the bag. “We need to talk.” Huffing, Dean reluctantly followed his baby brother’s orders. He wouldn’t do this often, just until Sammy was properly back on his feet. “I’ve been thinking about-”

“Look, we ain’t talking about it. Like I said, it was your call.” Opening that can of worms was not gonna happen. It had been going through Dean’s mind all night, and it made him sick.   

Huffing, Sam struck the bag harder. “No, Dean, I don’t regret the grace thing. Look at me! I’m fine. Better, actually.” It was just a small lie, Sam did regret taking the grace, but he was better, and that’s all that mattered to Dean.

Indicating he wanted to swap roles, Dean began to punch the bag, Sam holding it. “Then why d’ya wanna talk?” 

“Cas.”

“No.” With one heavy strike, the bag almost knocked Sam over. “There ain’t anything to talk about on that. Okay? He’s gone.”

Gritting his teeth, the younger hunter shoved the punch bag out of the way. “Really? Cuz you’ve been acting like a dick since he left.” The younger hunter wasn’t blind; he could see his brother was hurting. Every time Cas did this to them, Dean got worse.   

Clenching his jaw, the older man turned away. “I have been working my ass off for this war, Sam. I don’t have time to mourn the dead.”

“He’s not-”

“He’s as good as.”

“He could come back.”

Frowning, the blond hunter sat on the bench. “I wouldn’t let him in.” Grabbing a towel, Dean wiped his face. “The coward ran when I- we needed him… He ain’t coming back.” There was pain in the last words, as if he meant something else. As if he knew Cas couldn’t. Wherever he was, he was trapped.

Suddenly, ringing echoed through the bunker. Both men, shaken from their thoughts, rushed upstairs to greet their guests. “Yo! Dean, Sam, I bought you a present.” Grinning, Garth hugged his hunter friends. “The Kev-ster.”

Nervously stepping forwards, Kevin nodded, “Is- is, you know, Crowley-“

“Still out for the count, yeah. C’mon.” Sitting the team down around the main room’s table, Sam passed around the findings. “Demon or not, we need Crowley up and running. He knows everything about demons, maybe even the angels.” This war wasn’t really full-blast yet, but it was getting worse every day. It was becoming harder for the average Joe to pretend this crap didn’t exist, and even harder for the hunters to move unnoticed.

Nodding, Garth grinned and flipped through the intel. “So he’s Solomon, right? That’s awesome!” The childish enthusiasm in the ex-dentist’s face took the others aback. “C’mon, you gotta remember that this guy is, like, really important in Judeo-Christian beliefs.” Putting his game-face on, Garth glanced back at the papers, “But I ain’t got a clue how to help you here guys.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dean tilted his head over to Kevin, who gave a disgruntled squeak. “No! I ain’t breaking the King of Hell – my mom’s murderer – out of a self-induced coma. Hell no.” No one was that stupid. Solomon or not, the demon was King of Hell and embodiment of everything the Prophet hated. “I’m an orphan now because of him!”

Leaning forwards, Sam put on his softest expression. “I understand man, I really do, but, if we don’t do this, there will be a whole lot more orphans out there. Crowley’s, uh, reformed. If he can do anything to stop the angels and demons, then we’ve got help him first.” The hunter’s wide eyes broke the Prophet’s resolve, making Kevin reluctantly work through the info.

Frowning, Garth watched as Sam copied. Last he heard, the young Winchester was knocking on Death’s door, now he was the same athletic man-boy-giant.  Garth’s special Garth-Senses were off the scale, he knew that Sammy (don’t get him wrong, he’d never call him that to his face) had done something dark… evil, to get better. “Yo, Sam, Dean, can we talk?”

Each raising an eyebrow, the Winchester brothers led the other hunter into the kitchen. Leaning back onto the counter, Dean waited for Garth to make his piece.

Removing Bobby’s old trucker cap, the smallest hunter sighed. “What’ve you boys done now?” Watching the confusion on the other hunters’ faces bemused him. “C’mon! You can’t tell me Sam’s all healthy now. No offence, but you two don’t have that kinda luck.”

Turning to his baby brother, Dean gave him the ‘I told ya so’ look’. Shaking his head, Sammy sighed. “We managed to get some hoodoo to help me. That’s all.”

“Did it involve a cat’s skull?”

A deep frown creasing his brow, Sam stepped back a little. “Uh, no. Why?”

As if it was a normal question, Garth huffed. “Well, it ain’t a good thing if it needed a cat’s skull, and without one the spell wouldn’t work.” The kindly hunter rarely got this frustrated, but the Winchesters never made anything easy. “Whaddya really do?”

Rubbing his eyes, Sam looked anywhere but the other hunter. “I absorbed the grace of an angel, okay?”

Taken aback, Garth’s eyes widened. He had no idea what he had expected, but that was not it. “Whatya idjits go do that for? Do you know what’s in that stuff?”

“Yeah, a baby’s tears. It was a crap move, but it worked, and you ain’t our boss.” Dean growled. This didn’t concern Garth, as nice as the guy was, he wasn’t Bobby, no matter how he dressed or acted.

Rolling his eyes, Sam sat at the kitchen table, and motioned for the tiny man to join him. Unlike his brother, the younger Winchester could admit that it was, perhaps, a little off the reservation. “I honestly have no idea what I was thinking, man. But we have a handle on this.”

“For now, sure-“

“-and that’s all that matters. We have to take what we can, for now, and deal with the consequences later.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Sam, that’s the kinda thing we’d all expect from Dean, not you.” Shaking his head, the smaller hunter stood and headed for the door. “It’s your body, Sam. No one can tell you what to do with it, but you gotta remember that you have people who care.” And he was gone, disappearing back into the other room.

Alone together, the Winchester brothers both shared concerned expressions. Both knew Garth was right, that this could only go one of two ways. Sam had hopes for the future. Both men now had purpose, a home. Once this was all over, as he still believed it could be, the younger man wanted to rebuild the Men of Letters. Recreate the legacy. He couldn’t do that dead.

In silence, the two of them returned to the main room, and continued to try and find the cure for Crowley. After seventeen hours, they were about to throw in the towel, just as Dean spotted something. Showing the others the page, he let his brother inspect the pages. “C’mon, I did good.” The smug grin on the blond man’s face amused his baby brother.

Nodding, Sam smiled. “You’re right, listen to this: ‘Just as a Devil’s Trap contains demons, as does the Seal. To free a demon, the Trap must be broken, similarly to the Seal. However, the Seal’s power lies with its connection with The King, not the inscription.’”

Chewing on a pen lid, Dean reclined in his chair and pulled the ring from his pocket. “But we’ve already broken it.”

Jumping up, Kevin grabbed the sword from one of the displays. “I’ve got an idea.”

Startled, and slightly frightened by the boy, Dean put his hands up defensively. “Whoa there. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m gonna cut that bastard’s whole hand off.” 

“It’s not on his hand. Put that down now. That is really Clarence. Claresse?”

“Clarent.” Mumbled Sam, as he watched his brother struggle with the name. What he wondered was how Dean got that close. Then he remembered it was a sword, and Dean liked them.

“Yeah, that. You break that I’ll break your nose.”

Huffing, Kevin placed the blade back on the display and stormed off to the kitchen. Dean hated babysitting, especially with Kevin like this. Garth followed after the boy, to ensure he didn’t damage anything. This left the brothers alone together.

Eyebrows raised, Sam shook his head. Chuck was more stable than this kid, and, it was sad to admit, but Raphael was probably why. Without protection from an archangel, Kevin was fair game to the demons. Raphael wouldn’t have let this happen to him.

Glancing down at the papers, the younger Winchester nodded. “I guess we should look at cleansing rituals.” There were so many, though, and Sam doubted their success. For all they knew, they’d just kill Crowley. 

Flicking open his laptop, the man found multiple ways of doing it. However, only one seemed legitimate. Beckoned over by his brother, Dean dragged his chair over to him and began reading the screen. “Wow, man, that’s kinda… hard. You sure it-“

“Yep.”

“Aww, c’mon. I don’t even know where to find a red heifer. Let alone know how to… you know.”

Frowning, both men headed out on their reluctant mission. Covered in blood, the brothers returned several hours later. An odd silence between them; both were unable to erase the moos from their minds.

As they entered Crowley’s room, they noticed he had not moved. Tired with all this, Dean pulled out a hip flask and began flicking the purified, ashy, water. Sure, having the King of Hell on side would be useful, but was it really worth the effort? They had just killed an innocent cow to fix this guy.

After a few seconds, there seemed to be no effect. “Looks like Bessie died in vain,” Groaned the older hunter, as he tossed the flask to his brother. “Crowley’s a dick, anyway. Maybe we could just-”

“-Dean, gimme the ring a minute.” Frown on his face, Sam had an idea. As the Seal of Solomon landed, cold, into his palm, the man poured libations of the ashy water onto it. As the liquid touched the metal, golden steam began to fill the room. “Emundet hac re infecta.” Steam rising up, it created a shimmering cloud above them.

Fascinated and confused, Dean watched in awe as it began to rain liquid gold. Most found Crowley’s frozen form, entombing him into one solid statue. “Sam… I don’t think-”

“Shh!” Excited by the sight, the younger hunter crouched beside the bed, eyes wide.

Suddenly, a giant crack split through the form, revealing a wide-eyed Crowley. “What the bloody hell was that?” Sitting up, the King of Hell glanced around, spotting Sam’s face close to his. “Ah, Moose, it didn’t take you long to make your moves on me.”

Watching his brother’s confused frown, Dean laughed, “Yeah, handsome devil like yourself…” It was surprisingly easy to make jokes with Soulful Crowley. “Whaddya remember?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Hell. That angel-girl.” Slapping his lips together, the demon tasted something bitter on his tongue. “My mouth is as dry as a devil’s armpit. You wouldn’t mind fetching me a cup of tea, would you, Moose?” The smirk on the King of Hell’s face unsettled Sam. Something wasn’t right, but they didn’t really have time for that.

Huffing, the tall man left the other two alone to talk. “So… you’re Solomon, then?”

“The one and only, I’m afraid.” Clicking his joints, Crowley climbed off of the bed and began following Sam’s route. Dean in tow, he began to count each limb. To be honest, he had expected far fewer, considering the Winchester track-record. His suit was a mess, crumpled, damp and smelt like ash.

Finding his way into the main room, he sat in front of his new mug of tea. The brothers took their places at the table, facing him. “You gonna tell us about it, then?” Asked Sam, a rare opportunity like this, you don’t just pass up. Even Dean was leaning in to listen, and he usually hated stuff like this.

Smirking, Crowley nodded. “If you insist.” Was he playing with them? Of course he wanted to say. It was impossible for the guy to pass up an opportunity to brag. “I am King Solomon of Jerusalem, son of David. A prophet of the Lord, magician, exorcist, you name it.” Sipping some tea, he winced from the foul taste. “As a King, I had access to the finer things in life, wine, women and song. My palaces and temples reached to the sky and were covered in gold. I indulged in many things, and my wives were very persuasive. Made me turn from God to their pagan ones.”

“You had wives?” There was something weird about thinking of Crowley married. It didn’t sit well with Dean, who always figured him to be a drifter who liked a bit of both.

“Yes. The books exaggerated it a bit. It couldn’t have been more than one hundred wives and fifty concubines.” A slight smirk crossed the King’s lips, as he watched the humans register it. “And these wives turned me towards the pagan gods, which made me unable to realise a demon deal. I was given a long life of eighty years in return for my ever-lasting.” Something behind the words made Sam concerned, as if Crowley was okay with that.

Finishing his drink, the demon continued, explaining that, when he finally did die, he was made Lilith’s favourite pet. “‘A divine man in Hell!’ They’d say. What those bastards didn’t know, was that I had earned my place the first time, and I could do it again…” Noticing the suspicious look on Sam’s face, Crowley shrugged. “Of course, I regret everything I did now, but to see their faces when I took that crown, became their ruler. It was fantastic, honestly.” Playing with the mug, the King seemed to be mulling over something.

Confused, Dean rubbed his bottom lip in thought. “So, that’s how Naomi knew you, then?”

Nodding, the demon reclined in his seat, a smirk on his face. “Well, you know what being the lover of an angel is like, don’t you?” Watching the hunter squirm awkwardly, Crowley’s eyes shone with deviousness. “And I don’t mean that Anna.”

Confusion crossed Dean’s face as he thought back to angels he knew, other than Cas… cuz, you know, Crowley couldn’t mean him. Could he? A scowl formed, lips tightening into a line. “Shut it, douche-wad.” Storming off down the hall, Sam hurried after him.

“Woah! Dean, wait up, man. What was that about?” Concerned, the younger brother forced Dean to look at him. There it was, in Dean’s eyes, the same tiredness he had during the Apocalypse.

Shaking his head, the older hunter growled. “He’s a dick.” There was something more to it, something he couldn’t put his finger on. “I mean, if he’s s’posed to have a soul, why ain’t he using it?”

Shrugging, Sam sighed. “What I’m getting from him, I’m thinking Solomon wasn’t such a nice guy anyway.” Yeah, over a hundred wives and lovers, add to that the fact that he ended up making a deal with a demon… Solomon wasn’t too different to the Crowley they knew. “Look, I don’t like this, or him, either, but what else have we got?”

Shoulders slumping, Dean rested against the corridor wall. All he wanted was a rest from this. Nothing permanent, just something that could clear his mind of it all. It could be a family vacation, or something. No angels or demons. Just him, Sam, Cas and Kevin, hitting casinos, bars and beaches. “Awesome.”

Watching his brother’s mind wander, Sam frowned. Trying to get into his brother’s head when he was making that face was not a good idea. He left Dean to his own thoughts, and went to help Crowley figure out the effects of the prophecy, and cost.

Alone in the dark corridor, Dean rolled his head off of the wall and began to make his way to his bedroom. When they were done with the angels, they were so going to on vacation. Seating himself on his bed, he pulled out his phone. Slowly flicking through the contact list, it landed on ‘Cas’. Heart racing with God-knows-what, Dean ran his finger on dial. Calling him would be the reasonable thing to do, right? Sam was always telling him to communicate better, and telling Cas that they- he forgave him was the first step.

Chewing his lip, he pressed the button.

“Hello?” Castiel’s early-morning growl cut across the phone line. “Who is this?” Something was different about it, stopping Dean’s heart. “If you wish to play games, I’ll-”

“Cas?” Was all Dean could manage. Everything he had planned on saying went out the window.

“Hm? Dean?” Lightening up, the voice became softer. There was a ruffle of crisp bed-sheets as Cas sat up. “I didn’t have your number to-”  

“Stop, Cas.” Dean really didn’t want his excuses, he just wanted to hear his voice. There was no way the hunter would admit it, but he really missed his best friend. “Why d’ya leave?” It was an easy question, the first thing that came to mind. He didn’t want a fight, just an answer.

Silence held the other side of the line for a few moments. “I had to, you know that.”

Frowning, Dean bit his cheek, “Really? Cuz I remember gettin’ ready to go and you ran off without us.” Cas never made it easy to talk, even now, he was being as obscure as ever. His secrets were the whole reason anything in the last four years even happened.

“You wouldn’t understand-”

“Cuz I’m human? Newsflash, dick: you are too. Get over yourself.” Something about Cas made Dean angry, regardless of how much he liked him. It seemed like forever since Cas had been straight with him.

Something like a sniff cut through the line, before Cas growled. Actual goddamned growled. “Don’t call me again, you bastard.” With that, the line went dead.

Glancing down at his phone, Dean’s blood started to boil. What the hell? No one hangs up on him. Smashing his cell against the wall, Dean lay back on his bed and tried to sleep the day’s stress off.  

 

\- Sun, sea, sand, everything Kev had asked for. It wasn’t usually Dean’s thing, but this was awesome. This holiday was awesome, and nothing could ruin it. Reclined on a towel, ice cold beer in hand, Dean watched hot babes in their bikinis wink at him. Later he’d hit the casinos, win big and take chick back to his hotel room. Yes, hotel. God he loved California.

For now, though, he’d catch some rays, but, unlike Sam, he wasn’t gonna read while doing it. In the distance, he spotted Castiel giving Kevin a piggyback, whilst trying to walk into the sea. He laughed to himself as he saw them get knocked over by the waves. Dean loved seeing those two unwind cuz it was so rare.

Suddenly, Castiel was beside him, dripping wet, wings fully extended. “Look, Dean! I’m a dog.” With the widest grin on his face, Cas shook the water off, and onto Dean. Before Dean could throttle the angel, Cas gave him puppy-eyes to rival Sammy’s. Sitting on the towel facing Dean, the angel pretended to scratch his ear with his foot.

Great, thought Dean, Cas is crazy again.

As if Cas heard him, he smirked. “No, Dean, just happy.”

Realising he had never seen Cas’ wings, Dean took them in. They were like a raven’s, shimmering dark blue. As Dean reached out to touch a feather, Castiel began to fade. “Where’re you goin’, Cas?” Pain tore through Dean’s voice. He didn’t want his angel to go.

Panic growing in Cas’ giant blue eyes, he begged Dean not to leave him. Not to forget him or let him go. “Please Dean, I need-” –

 

Bolting upright, Dean sat tangled in his covers and roughly ran his hand over his face. God he hated himself. He wasn’t gonna take back what he said, though. He couldn’t. If Cas was gonna run off again, maybe he should stay gone, but it didn’t mean the ex-angel deserved that. He felt like his dad telling Sammy to never come back.

Groaning, the man rolled out of bed and headed to the shower. His watch said it was only six in the morning. Shrugging off his dirty clothes, Dean washed off the dried blood from yesterday. The past few weeks were killing him. Angels and demons waging war, that damn prophecy, Crowley as Solo- “Crap!” Jumping out of the shower, Dean barely wrapped a towel around his waist, before storming into the main hall. “Sammy, gimme your phone, now.” Snatching his startled brother’s cell, he got Cas’ number up. “C’mon, pick up.” 

_Sorry, but the number you have dialled has been disconnected. Please try again._

Raising an eyebrow, Sam was completely disoriented. Why was his half naked brother throwing his phone at the wall? Before he could ask, Dean stormed off again. 

Popping his head from the kitchen, Garth asked, “Did Dean want a coffee?” 

Half-heartedly finishing his shower, Dean knew he had screwed up. Any chance of saving Cas from the prophecy went out down the chute. Cas had broken all contact with them cuz of one, stupid, stress-fuelled phone call. Resting his head on the tiles, he let the water do its thing. Maybe focusing on the demons and angels would distract him. Yeah… but first, he needed to get alcohol. Lots of it.

As Dean left for the liquor store, Sam and Crowley insisted on tagging along. No one mentioned the phone incident or Cas. Crowley sat in the back seat, watching Dean drive. There was the unmistakeable Winchester turmoil there. Ah, love, such an awful burden, thought Crowley in a mocking tone. 

Little time was spent actually in the store; Dean just grabbed his usual pack of beer and bottle of whiskey. Something told Sam that it wasn’t to share, so he bought the rest of the team beers. There was so much destroying Dean, the scars were starting to show. After everything, it was a surprise he hadn’t broken down already.

Driving back, Dean really wanted the other two to stop staring at him. He began to fumble with a tape and slid it in. – _I see a little silhouetto of a man scaramouche scaramouche will you do the fandango… -_ Frowning, Dean popped the cassette out and replaced it with Styx. - _…thunderbolts of lightning very very frightening…-_ What the hell? He punched the cassette player.

“Dean, just pick a damn tape.” Sam sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

Gritting his teeth, Dean glanced over at his brother. “I would, but someone’s screwed with them.”

“Um, yes, that would be me,” said Crowley, as he leant over their shoulders. “From now on. every tape in this car will turn into ‘Best of Queen.’”

Groaning, Sam rubbed his eyes. “What the hell? You promised you wouldn’t copy the book.”

Totally confused, Dean’s eyes flicked from Sam to the road. “What? What book?”

Before anyone answered, something sped into the road. Swerving the car, Dean narrowly missed it. Crowley was the first out of the car, followed by Sam and Dean. “Wow, you look just awful,” said Crowley to the man in the middle of the road. He was clutching his stomach, blood dripping through his fingers.

Rushing to the man’s aid, Sam helped him sit on the grassy verge. “I-I ne-ed to find him.” The man was fading fast.

“You’re not finding anyone in that state, mate,” said Crowley, watching as the brothers struggled to help.

Growling, Dean flicked a glare at the demon, and then turned back to the bleeding man. “What happened?”

“They wanted- tried to find him. They’re going- going to kill him. The Avenger, the Judge. He seeks to- to tear him apart.” The man groaned in pain. “I saw it. They showed me the end. Oh god! We’re all going to die…”

Sharing glances with Sam, Dean continued to question the man. The man, Nathan, said that he was called upon by an angel for a ‘higher purpose’. When he said ‘yes’ to being a vessel, he found out the truth, and fought to push the angel back out. He didn’t want to be a murderer. The struggle severely wounded him.

Sam called an ambulance, and it was there within minutes. Sam wasn’t sure Nathan would make it, but hoped he would. The death toll was getting pretty high, and was only gonna get worse. Glancing at his blood-soaked brother, he sighed. Dean never worried about himself, and that was gonna destroy him one day.

“‘m gonna have to have another shower.” There was no expression on Dean’s face. Nothing. He remained quiet the rest of the day. Back at the bunker, he flicked through books about Avenging angels and Justice, all the while downing his whiskey.

Dean wasn’t gonna admit he was crumbling. But if he did, it was because of the events of the past few years, not because his best friend was on the run from a butt-load of angry angels. And it was definitely not cuz Cas probably hated him now. No, he’d never admit it. Ever. 

 

 


	10. Anchors

_“I mean he looks like a guy who disappeared years back. Yeah, the guy thought angels were talking to him.”_

 

\- “Come now, brother. You have had your fun for tonight.” A warm hand rested upon Castiel’s shoulder as he gazed out across the sleeping town. Silver moon high above them, he bathed in its light for a few moments more. He wiped his bloodied hands upon his overcoat and retracted his claws, the taste of copper slick in his mouth.

Turning to his Alpha, Castiel nodded. He did not look back at his victim as they walked through the woods. He didn’t need to, for he already knew what he would see. The body would be sprawled out wearing a blood soaked leather jacket. Castiel did not wish to see those hollow green eyes, or matted blond hair. He killed that young man, and he had to forget it. Forget his old pack.  -

 

Castiel woke with a sudden jolt and found himself facing Gabriel holding a still sizzling Taser gun. “Man, thought you’d never stop crying. What are you, a baby?”

Heart pounding, the werewolf wiped his eyes. “I had a dream.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I tore Dean apart.”

“Knew that too.”

Frowning, Castiel kept the rest of the dream to himself. He didn’t want to hear Gabriel’s input about the phone call. It felt so real, but couldn’t have been. Dean never liked to call Castiel, and was probably too busy with Sam to even think about him.

Getting ready for work, the werewolf forced his dreams to the back of his mind and tried to make himself presentable. He had several frees in the morning which he planned on spending avoiding other werewolves, hunters and Jackson Whittemore.

The moment Castiel and Gabriel reached the school, they parted ways. Cas settled himself down in the staff lounge with a coffee. The drink’s strong and bitter scent drew many other teachers to his side. It was comforting to think of these adults as normal humans. They seemed untouched by the supernatural world and it reminded the werewolf of his past life as an angel. He used to observe them from cradle to grave as they lived. Every life had been filled with love and heartbreak, with kindness and cruelty. It was in those days he had longed to join them, if only for a moment. Reality did not live up to the fantasy, it seemed. The truth was that he was not made for normal. He had been crafted by God’s own hand to guide and protect his father’s favoured children and he couldn’t even do that.

Relaxing back into his seat, Castiel noticed Adrian settle beside him. Pushing his glasses up his nose, the other teacher still seemed shaken from his ‘attack’ a few nights before. It wasn’t completely obvious, but Castiel had experience noticing such things. The human was hiding his trauma well enough though.

“You have any classes now?” asked Adrian as he slurped his coffee.

Shaking his head, Castiel glanced out of the window.

The other teacher smiled. “Well, I’m heading into town in a while to get some text books for someone, if you want to join me.” Adrian often extended a hand of friendship to Castiel, he had noticed. Lots of people did.

Licking his lips, Cas smiled. “Gladly.”

Just as they began to discuss their trip, Coach burst in screaming about something. Storming right up to Castiel, he pressed a finger right in his chest. “Your brother is the devil! He’s a pure evil little crapcake. When I see him next, I’m squishing him right into the ground.”

Blue eyes blowing wide, Cas gripped the table to stop his chair tipping over. Heart racing, he bit his lip and slowed his breathing. “What has Gabriel done now?” he managed to pant.

“Like you don’t know! You’re probably in on it. Dick.” Bobby’s face was growing redder and redder. “He put my car on the roof. How does someone do that? How?”

Frowning, Adrian pried Bobby’s had from Cas and stood between the men. “Are you sure it wasn’t a prank from Stilinski or McCall?” From behind Adrian, Cas’ hands clenched at the mention of Scott. “It’s not likely to be Castiel, is it?”

Huffing, Coach’s wild eyes darted to Cas, and watched as he squirmed in his seat. Bobby didn’t like the look of this ‘Mr Novak’ much less his creepy little brother. How the guy got away with anything was a mystery. “You,” he pointed to Castiel, “You gotta get my car off the roof before lunch. Or I’ll be shoving a jock-strap in your carburettor,” and stormed off to his first lesson.

Breathing slowly, Castiel reclined back into the seat, steadying himself. A man like Bobby Finstock would have left him unfazed before the ‘changes’… either of them. But there was something about a man who wouldn’t listen that drove Cas insane. Bobby was a whirlwind all of his own and unlike most humans Cas had met out in public.

Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. “Let’s go into town now, he won’t be able to catch you or your car there.” Adrian’s joking smile disturbed the werewolf. There was something wrong with a human who could just fake their emotions.

Shaking his head, Castiel politely declined and stood. “I do not wish to be on the wrong side of any of my co-workers in just the second week here.” The sad fact was that it was the truth. In the first week he couldn’t have cared less what others thought of him, but now he was stuck here he had to blend in.

Sighing, the other teacher bid Castiel goodbye and left. All of the teachers had gone to their lessons, bar two, Castiel and Ms Morrell, who sat smiling at him. “Well handled. Coach Finstock can be a handful at the best of times.” Something about her words struck Cas as odd. The way she said ‘Handled’ made his skin crawl, as if she knew the other possible consequences of the scenario.

“I’ve ‘handled’ worse than his kind.” Bitterness seeped from his words, regardless of how hard he tried to hide it. “I’m sure I’d like him if Gabriel didn’t keep ‘Pranking’ him like this.” He must have a talk with his brother about it.

Frowning, the young woman stood from her chair. “Do you need help getting his car down?” A sharp nod was all Castiel replied with. “If it’s even there.” She huffed laughter at her own joke.

“It will be.”

When they both got to the roof, there was a wheel-less Lancia Dedra propped up on cinder blocks. The two teachers inspected the rest of the damage before Morrell turned to Castiel, “You’re lucky Bobby’s not pressing charges. I mean… this is criminal damage.”

Shrugging, the werewolf walked to the edge of the roof and looked down. He couldn’t just lower it down. “Gabriel has done much worse.” Turning back towards the car, he mumbled, “An angel would be able to get this down.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame we can’t keep them in jars.”

Squinting at the sun, Castiel shielded his eyes with his arm. “They wouldn’t like that.” This is strange, he thought. To be talking to a human so flippantly about what he once was… it was like a weight lifted from his chest, even if it was all just in jest.

“Yeah, that, and they’re generally busy with-”

“-killing demons.”

Morrell gave a true, honest-to-god, laugh, one Castiel rarely heard these days. “I was gonna say Heaven, but your one’s good too.”

With a sad smile, the werewolf turned his attention back to the task at hand. After an internet search on Morrell’s phone, they ordered a crane to come. Castiel wasn’t even sure how he was going to afford it, but money had habit of just appearing whenever he needed it.

The two teachers waited sat on the roof, Cas’ legs swinging off the edge, admiring the scenery. California was beautiful, especially Beacon Hills. There were trees lining every road and stray path, the golden sun blazing high above them. The nights it rained gave it the sense of magic Castiel missed. He could tell… feel it in the air, vibrating and buzzing like lightning in a thunderstorm. Perhaps it was what was left of his grace, but deep down he knew it was just another monstrous quality he had been ‘gifted’ by the Alpha.

Cutting through the silence, Ms Morrell’s voice reminded Cas he was not alone. “You’re different to… anyone I think I’ve ever met before.”

Nodding, he gripped clasped his hands in his lap. “That’s because I’m not like anyone you’ve met before.” It was a truth that was never going to change regardless of how his situation evolved.

“Why is that?”

Castiel kept silent, watching over the town. There was an urge there to tell her everything, to confide in her, but he wasn’t stupid. “You are different to others I’ve met here too.”

A small hum of amused agreement came from her, before they fell into an amiable silence. Neither needed to speak; it was like two old friends slipping into their special routine after many years apart.

The crane came too soon, breaking the pair’s peace. The hired hand made short work of returning the car to its rightful space in the lot and Castiel made his way to his classroom to get it ready for the students’ presentations in period after lunch.

He was excited to hear what they had found out and what twists they would spin on their given ancient figures. Well, he had known some personally whether through Heaven, or for telling them to get back on that goddamned horse and fight for their people. After seeing McCall’s previous projects, though, he was certain Stilinski would be the main contributor to their piece.

Sitting back in his chair, he glanced out of the window. It was lunchtime and his ‘guest’ had yet to arrive. There was niggling hope that the Alpha had died, or forgotten about him. Castiel wasn’t so lucky and the door swung open.

Peter leant in the doorway, watching his beta slowly swallow as he turned to face him. Fear was thick in the air, and so unlike the man he had met those times before. His eyes were wide, and revealed how strikingly blue they naturally were. But it wasn’t the blue Peter wanted to see. Castiel’s fear was an intriguing development, but not unexpected. Peter remembered fear.

The Alpha made no move to enter the room, and Castiel watched from the corner of his eye. It felt like being hunted. That thought made his gut knot. “You’re here then,” he said, his voice breaking.

“‘There is no instance of a country having benefited from prolonged warfare.’ Sun Tzu.” Peter stepped into the room, and made his way to his beta’s side. Leaning on the desk, into Castiel’s personal space, he continued. “I don’t want this to take longer than it has to. We’ve already lost so much ground with this little song and dance.”

The knowing, recognisable tone made Cas feel sick. He wanted nothing more to just fall into it. Fall in line and obey the man who was there when he hurt most. Biting his tongue, Castiel tried to remember… had to remember that this was the man that gave him the wounds in the first place. This was the man that made him a monster; took everything away from him. What the beta wanted was justice and freedom.

Sighing at the lack of response, Peter placed a hand on his beta’s shoulder. It both amused and hurt to watch Cas flinch, although he had known what to expect. This was a lot to register for a human-turned werewolf. Blue-Eyes had a lot of resilience, a willpower Peter had not seen in anyone but hunters or monsters.

Forcefully shrugging out from the Alpha’s grip, Castiel stood. He wasn’t going to be seen as inferior. Not to a monster. He was a warrior of God, even if he had lost his rank and powers. It was in his blood.

“I want you in my pack, but if you will not join it I must eliminate the threat.” Peter’s words were crisp and he straightened up. Pressing close to his beta, he kept eye contact the whole time, hoping to see a glimmer of that heavenly _blue_.

Nearly stumbling back with how close the Alpha was, Castiel grit his teeth. The scent from _that_ night filled his senses. The voice. Everything about the Alpha ordered Castiel to bend knee and bare his neck. Everything in his blood told him to give in and take an alpha, join the pack.

And Peter could see it. Castiel’s eyes flicking from one place to the other, trying to look anywhere but at his alpha. Peter could feel the heartbeat rise.

“I won’t be a killer.”

Peter simply smiled, leaning closer, breath misting on his beta’s face. “You already are.” In that moment the Alpha could see all of the tumblers fall in place and Castiel’s resolve crumble. Those blue eyes burned brighter than he’d ever seen on another of his kind. Stepping back, he watched the other man fall to his knees, hands splayed on the tiles beneath him.

“I can- can’t kill them.” That dream… he wouldn’t do that to Dean. He had done it so many times before. Looking up at Peter, Castiel felt himself completely break. “Please.” He was no longer an angel, a soldier. He was just a puppy, begging for his master’s forgiveness.

Kneeling down, in front of _his_ beta, Peter placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will not have you kill your old pack to prove your loyalty to me. I just want you to- to get close to Scott, convince him to join our family.” Peter could deal with Derek.

Slowing his breath, Castiel nodded. He hated this. “I have a date with his mother tonight.”

“Perfect.” Straightening himself out, Peter patted Castiel on the head and made to leave the room. “We’ll talk more soon. Then you can tell me all about it.” Making his way through the halls, he remembered the night he chose Castiel. How the unarmed man had fought back unafraid. How he tried to save everyone. And how wide his eyes went when he realised that he would die. It was the right choice to let him live.

Stood by his locker, Scott smelt something familiar. The scent of a blazing fire. Glancing around, he tried to figure out whether he should ring the alarms. However, something accompanied it, a bloodlust and someone else’s fear. Locking eyes on Peter, the young werewolf struggled to keep his claws in. The Alpha was coming out of Mr Novak’s class.

Keeping his head down, not prepared to fight the Alpha at all, let alone in front of his peers, he nudged Stiles. His friend then proceeded to swing his head around with all the subtly of a pigeon in an old bell tower.

When Stiles noticed Peter, his heart froze and he swore he was gonna die just from that. With a lump in his throat and overwhelming urge to dive out of a window, he turned to face the lockers. Look busy, look busy, he thought to himself.

The moment Peter was gone from the building, Scott swung Stiles around. “What’s he doing here?”

“Don’t look at me, man; I’m not the werewolf.”

After a moment staring over Stiles’ shoulder, at the closed classroom door, the young wolf bit his tongue. “He wanted Mr Novak.” Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Scott started for the door. There was no way of knowing what was behind it, posters were stuck over the window on the other side. Holding his breath, Scott prepared himself for the worst, and tightened his grip on the handle.

“Whoa! We ain’t going in there, are we? I mean- I mean he could be dead. I don’t think I can see another dead body for another, I dunno… lifetime.” Stiles was on the edge of a panic attack, his hands violently shaking as he reached to pull Scott back. Sure, he used to be excited by the whole idea of finding a dead body, but he’d already seen way too many in the short space of a fortnight. He could literally say that this was a case of Stephen King’s ‘The Body’. You know, the one where those kids went to see a dead body and it just depressed them when they did. Like that.

Frowning, Scott gently touched the wood of the door. “And if he’s dying?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Rubbing his eyes, Stiles knew how this was going to end. “O- okay, yeah, okay… you go in but I’ll stand here, keeping guard, y’know.” It was a coward’s way out, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from following his friend.

“Gee, thanks man.”

“Yep, I’m a great friend, off you go.”

Scott’s hand tightened itself around the cold metal of the handle and he twisted. Pressing his shoulder on the heavy wood, he began to step forwards. The scent of fear and fury hit him like a wave as it forced its way through the widening gap. Stepping into the room, he began to let the door swing shut behind him.

Grabbing it before it could fully close, Stiles steeled himself. “God, I’m gonna regret this,” he said, entering behind Scott.

It wasn’t as they expected. There was no blood, no death only pain and fury; disgrace and betrayal. Both boys set eyes on Castiel, who was still kneeling where he had been left. “Mr N?” Scott took a hesitant step further in.

“Yo, Scott… Look.” Stiles pointed to the teacher’s hands. His claws were fully extended.

“Mr Novak?” Scott hesitantly crouched beside Castiel. “You can’t be here like this.”

Growling, Cas sobbed. He managed to retract his claws, but his eyes still shone bright. If Stiles had to describe the colour, it would be like a nebula. You know, that stunning ethereal blue found only in the deepest parts of space. The idea of space was terrifying, all wild and untouchable.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Castiel opened them back to show them back to their natural blue. Slowing his breath, he then stood and returned to his desk. “Take your seats, if you wish. Class will start soon.”

Trading tentative glances, the boys took their seats at the front of the room. It wasn’t their usual spot, but they weren’t gonna risk Mr Novak going wolf in class without Scott trying to stop him.

As expected, class felt like it would never finish. Mr Novak has sat to the right of Scott in his wheelie chair, watching the presentations and jotting down notes. Sometimes the young wolf would glance over and notice the letters weren’t really… letters. He was so distracted by the strange writing that he literally jumped from his chair when Mr Novak turned to him.

“It’s Enochian. Please pay attention to your peers.”

When it was Scott and Stiles’ turn to present, he regretted not rehearsing as much as Stiles had. Sure, he wasn’t rambling like he was, but that was because he lacked information to ramble ON. At least when Stiles spoke he knew his stuff.

By the end of the class, Scott was pretty damn sure he was gonna fail this class too.

Stiles, however, was still adrenaline fuelled and practically ran from the classroom. Scott had to jog to catch up. He didn’t want to leave the class so soon. In fact, he wanted to hang around to see if Mr Novak was okay before they all went home. But that didn’t happen, and he didn’t really feel like walking, with Stiles as his ride.

 

Slowly, Castiel worked his way across the classroom picking up stray sheets and pushing in chairs. His students had all left him in peace, which he was grateful for. There was no way he wished to hold a conversation with a confused teenager right now. His head was still reeling from earlier and aching from his internal battle. All that effort had gone to waste the moment he bent knee to the Alpha.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Gabriel enter the room haphazardly mopping the floor. Both ignored each other for a few moments, before the archangel huffed and dropped the mop into its bucket. “It happened, din’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Castiel kept his eyes on the sheet in front of him.

Gabriel hummed as he sat on a desk, feet propped on the chair behind. “You never were a good liar Cassie. Look at me.”

Cas couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t want to show his big brother the shame in his eyes. But, Gabriel being Gabriel, he wouldn’t let it be. Snapping his fingers he appeared a few paces in front of the werewolf, hand gripping his chin in place. “Gabriel, please…” Cas sounded drained.

“Listen, you lil’ ass-wipe, I know you got yourself a master who’s way off the reservation.”

Unable to resist eye contact, Castiel scowled and pushed his brother from him. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’m _not_ an idiot, Gabriel. Perhaps if you were doing your job as an angel and actually _saving_  people we wouldn’t have such an issue.” Temper rising, he tried to resist it. He had no anchor, nothing to stop him from turning savage. Maybe the Alpha could help him with that.

Shaking his head, Gabriel merely rambled on to himself. A sudden knock on the door broke the awkward silence. As it opened, the Archangel disappeared. Justin peered around with raised eyebrows. “I heard shouting.”

Shrugging, Castiel picked up his bag. “It’s been a rough day, that’s all.” Turning to his friend, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?”

Smiling sadly, Justin entered the room. “There’s been a report of a suspicious person leaving your classroom earlier today.”

Nodding, Castiel flicked his hand for the State Detective to follow him out. They walked in a companionable silence, allowing Cas time to think of a decent lie. It was hard. Really hard. He couldn’t bring himself to say any ideas that came to his head. Only the truth rested on his tongue, so he said nothing.

As they reached the parking lot, Justin turned to stop the werewolf. “Look, I know guys like me and you have secrets. That’s cool. If it helps, this is just protocol. I don’t have to… bring any of this up with the other cops if its- its, uh, personal.” Dancing around the topic, Justin gave Cas a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Nodding, the teacher glanced around and licked his lips. “Peter Hale visited my class to talk about ‘personal’ issues.”

Smiling, Justin just listened. Each little inflection and strange mannerism logged.

“He wanted me to join him.”

“Thank you Castiel. You know you can trust me with anything else. I won’t judge.” After a beat, he then said, “do you want a ride home?”

Frowning, Cas glanced around and noticed Gabriel’s car had already left the lot. With a sharp nod, he took the offer. He liked Justin and enjoyed his company, much like he did with Morrell and Deaton. Although, he only spoke to them in strange situations.

 

After dropping the beta off, Justin watched him enter the motel. It seemed the curtains were always closed, whether that was Castiel’s longing for secrecy, or pure laziness, he didn’t know. Dialling a number, the State Detective tapped a beat into the steering wheel. After two buzzes, the line was picked up. “Hey Katie, it’s me.”

“Justin, baby? What you get me?” He could hear a click of a door. Allison must’ve been nearby.

Reclining back into his leather seat, he glanced out of the open window at Castiel’s door. “It’s pretty much what we expected. Peter’s rounding up his hounds, and Cassie-boy was first port-of-call.”

“Anything else?”

“I got the feeling he succeeded.”

“You sure? Chris’ll want proof.”

Laughing, Justin let his free hand hang out of the window, soaking up the sun’s heat. “C’mon, hon, you never cared about that crap before we came here.”

“Jus, we can’t screw this one up, or it’ll be Allison clearing it up in another five years.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll get you proof on the pack thing… but only if you get your best dress on; I’m taking you out to dinner before you do that thing with Allison.” Before his fiancée could protest, Justin hung up the phone. Proof would be easy. This whole hunt was just Way. Too. Easy. He thought Cas would’ve been a lot smarter considering…

 

Allison spent her free afternoon in the woods preparing herself to confront Lydia who she had accompany her. They were alone, with no possibility of interruption. God, that makes me sound like I’m planning on killing her, she thought. It wasn’t that she hadn’t imagined it. C’mon all girls did when they see their best friends kissing their boyfriend. The bow and arrows didn’t help make her feel any saner.

It was a strange confrontation, though. She had tried to get Lydia to crack, to show some guilt or something. She had also tried to get her jealous, but nothing seemed to work. Eventually, the girl gave up and admitted she knew. She knew Lydia had kissed Scott. She made to disguise her warning shot as a tester, however, when the arrow exploded on impact of the tree, she was more distracted by that.

Just as she examined the wounded bark, Allison heard the crunch of twigs a few paces ahead. Passing her bow back to Lydia, the girl made her way around to see what it was. Maybe it was just an animal.

Pulling out her stun gun, she fired. Hitting whatever it was, she moved around the tree. “Oh god!” Scott lay in a heap. Helping him up, Allison steadied her breathing. She didn’t want to feel like this around him. She didn’t want to love him.

The conversation was short and awkward. Still reeling from the electrocution, Scott gave Allison back her necklace and fed her a lie or two before leaving. He never meant to fall in love. As she hugged him, guilt and longing welled in his stomach. Sniffing her hair, he could smell the scent of sweet petals only found in spring.

 

Stiles felt really guilty using his dad like this. But plying him with whiskey was the best way to get information on the case. Putting morality aside it really was. Before long, the two men were discussing the case at length. What Stiles found out was disturbing. Like, it was all about an arson attack where everyone but one guy died. That guy was Peter Hale.

The more they delved into the case, the more Stiles found that Peter was exacting his own warped ‘justice’ on Beacon Hills. One arsonist at a time. You see, the Hale house was burnt down by an apparent ‘electrical fault’ a couple of years back. Everyone but Derek and Laura Hale had been trapped in it as they all roasted alive. Peter was the only survivor, and he was pissed. Wouldn’t you be?

“What about Mr N, though?” Stiles asked, holding Derek’s weird mug-shot with the flashing eyes.

Shrugging, Sheriff poured himself another drink. “Beats me. When I looked Castiel Novak up his files are squeaky clean. I- I mean he looks like a guy who disappeared years back… what was his name? Jimmy! Yeah, the guy thought angels were talking to him, then he hopped the crazy train.”

Frowning, Stiles stood. “Dad, you gotta go to bed.” When his dad started talking about mental health, he would always fall back to the same conversation. Stiles didn’t want to think about it. Please.

 

After hours of preparation, choosing which outfit went with the occasion, Melissa settled on a black dress and her favourite blazer. It was the first time since Scott’s dad that she had been on a date, and didn’t want to come off as too keen. “God, but he’s gorgeous,” Melissa sighed to herself as she fastened her earrings. “I probably shouldn’t even bother. He looked great in just a hospital gown.” Shaking her head, she refused to get herself down.

Silence filled the house though Allison was in Scott’s room, which was hopefully a good thing. The door was open and there wasn’t arguing, so Melissa guessed they were actually having a mature conversation.

As the doorbell rang, excitement and butterflies filled her. What if Castiel didn’t like her? What if this was just a parent-teacher meeting in disguise? Oh god! No Melissa, you can do this, she thought as she headed to Scott’s room. “What do you think, too much? Oh god, it’s too much isn’t it?”

“Mrs McCall, you look amazing.” Allison was the first to speak.

When asked to get the door for her date, Scott practically flew downstairs. It had been so long since he had seen his mom this happy. It would be good for her.

Just as his feet hit the ground floor, his heart stopped. There was that scent he knew so well. That spicy ginger and cane sugar one. Mom couldn’t really be goin’ on a date with _him_ , could she? He thought.

Hand brushing against the door handle, he could hear the strange heartbeat on the other side. Mr Novak shouldn’t be goin’ on a date with my mom…

“Scott, answer the door.” Melissa called from upstairs, breaking him out of his thought.

Slowly opening the door, it revealed Mr Novak, tugging at the lapels of his peacoat jacket and glancing at his ass in confusion. Scott just watched silently as his teacher shifted uncomfortably in his obviously new attire. The guy didn’t look at home being dressed like this.

Huffing slightly, Castiel felt his outfit was touching all the wrong places. Gabriel had forced him to wear this stuff, claiming it was what women liked. What did Gabe know about women? He could create them out of thin air for God’s sake. But still, Cas wasn’t allowed to leave the motel in anything but. The slacks were an issue, he could _feel_ his rear. He didn’t like that one bit.

Clearing his throat, Scott finally made himself known. Obviously Mr Novak’s keen werewolf senses weren’t that good… at least, not when distracted by his outfit.

Jumping, Castiel looked up. “Hello Scott.”

“Mr Novak.” With a slight nod, Scott stepped out of the way and let his teacher enter the hall.

Looking around, Castiel was fascinated by how homey this house was. Family pictures lined the walls and little ornaments adorned shelves. “We’re not in school. You may call be Castiel if you wish,” he said, turning to face the young werewolf.

Okay, as weird as it was knowing his teacher’s first name, it wasn’t as weird AS his first name. “What’s that, like, Greek or something?”

Frowning, Castiel turned to look at a small framed painting. “Hebraic, actually. My Father was originally from Jerusalem.” Examining the picture, he identified it as ‘Fallen Angel’. “Alexander Cabanel…” Returning his attention to confused teen, Castiel smiled. “The artist who did this. Or the original, at least.” It had always been Castiel’s favourite, perhaps it still was. He could sympathise with the angel now, at least.

“Oh, yeah, mom found it in a garage sale for a dollar. It’s nothing special really.” Stepping between his teacher and the picture he examined, Scott got Castiel’s attention. “Mr- Castiel, why are you doing this?”

Tilting his head, Castiel squinted. “Admiring the painting?”

“Going on a date with my mom.” The young werewolf saw the other’s eyes widen in realisation. “I mean, yeah, you saved my friends, and you’re cool-”

“But?”

Leaning, in the boy whispered, “You’re a werewolf.” He pulled back. “You’re new too. You don’t even have an anchor. AND Peter’s getting his claws in you.” Scott could smell the growing fear, the speeding beat of Castiel’s heart. “I don’t want her hurt.”

Sighing, Cas licked his lips. “I know, but I have faith that-”

“Faith won’t heal her if you go feral.”

No, faith wouldn’t, not anymore, Castiel thought as he turned away to face the stairs. Melissa appeared at the top, strikingly beautiful. Perhaps Gabriel was right about ‘dressing to impress’.

Seeing Castiel’s eyes widen from the end of the staircase, Melissa’s heart skipped a beat. This was real; she was going on a real date with an actual person. Making her way down, she entwined her arm through his extended one. He was so warm, and smelt as good as he looked. It actually made her mouth water a little. Saying goodnight to her son, she left for her date.

In the car Melissa couldn’t resist talking about crap, but found Castiel seemed genuinely interested. “You actually like it when I talk about hospitals?”

Eyes on the road, Cas nodded. “I came from a family of- of medical professionals. It is nice to hear about it again.” And it was. To think of how far humans had come with healing themselves; maybe angel’s powers weren’t as necessary as they insisted.

Smiling, Melissa lay back in the soft leather seat. The stereo turned on with the engine, and had been softly playing classic rock in the background. Creedence Clearwater Revival was playing now, accompanying the rock of the Barracuda. It reminded her of being a teenager again, when she’d sit in the back of Wesley’s truck, listening to ‘Walk on Water’ with a beer and watching the stars.

Melissa almost didn’t want to reach the restaurant, preferring to sit brushing shoulders with the beautiful Castiel and just enjoy the moment. However, they did reach it, and the car rumbled into valet of the Hotel Archange.

Gabriel had recommended the hotel too. Next time Castiel swore he would do the planning himself. Hopefully. He had planned to this time, but his brother insisted.

The Maître d’ led them straight through the grand dining hall, up a small set of stairs and onto a private balcony overlooking the fairy lit gardens. “Wow.” It was unreal. People didn’t just do this for her. Melissa knew it was too much effort and money. She felt out of place here, with this beautiful, mysterious, man. Sat across from him, she watched as his eyes flicked over the wine list. He looked like he belonged here, in all his finery, surrounded by these magical little lights and candles.

Confused, Castiel struggled with this list. Alcohol was alcohol, wasn’t it? With the Winchesters, he never had much time to be picky. Glancing up, he noticed Melissa watching him. Laughing, Castiel leant over the table, “I have no idea what I’m doing. Do you know anything about wines?”

With that the ice was broken. Both ended up ordering beers and fumbling with the French dish names. The more they talked, Melissa began to see him as something more than a teacher or otherworldly creature. He had a life, old friends. She heard about his last love and first kiss, a domineering nurse called Meg who called him her unicorn. He didn’t say why they weren’t together anymore, but she didn’t pry. He also told her about his overly religious brothers, most who wanted him to be a soldier.

Then he spoke about his _real_ family. The ones he found himself. The way he shone with excitement talking about them. Apparently that’s where he found out about life’s finer things; friends, alcohol, music and actual fun. Melissa sat back listening, enjoying not having to fuel the conversation for once. His gravelly voice was addictive.

When it was her turn to talk, she found little to say, but he seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. “God, I must sound boring. I mean, compared to you.”

Shaking his head, Castiel took a gulp of beer. “Far from it, actually, I think your life is the interesting one.” It was strange, telling her the truth through lies about his life made a weight feel lifted from him. He could talk with her for hours, years even, if she wanted. Hell, he swore he could tell her _everything_ about his life. Even his real age. But that was crazy; the truth got people hurt.

Looking up from his beer, Castiel locked eyes with Melissa, who had been watching him as he was in deep thought. Sucking his bottom lip, he relaxed back into his seat. “And what about your husband?”

“Oh, him.”

“You still go by McCall…”

Nodding, Melissa knew this would come up. It had to, if the guy was as perfect as he seemed. Tracing her finger across the pattern on the edge of her plate, Melissa sighed. “He’s a jerk. A dick, really. He abandoned us to work in the FBI.”

Castiel tensed at that.

“So I divorced him. I kept the surname because it’s Scott’s.” She gave the gentlest smile Cas had seen since… since he witnessed Mary cradle Dean. “So, you don’t have to worry, I’m not cheating on anyone.”

Returning the smile, Castiel leant in, elbows either side of the plate. “I never thought you were.”

After dining in peace, Melissa knew she was going try to keep Castiel. Hell, he was something so rare and special she wanted to put him in a jar, or something. She knew it sounded crazy, and that was why she wouldn’t tell him that. Thing is, Castiel saw something in her, too. It wasn’t the Alpha making him do this, but he really wanted to stay with her…

“Mrs McCall!” A female voice cut through their peace.

Startled, Castiel swung his gaze around to see a tall blonde woman dressed in a blood red gown. He did recognise the man at her side, Justin.

Confused and a little annoyed, Melissa plastered on a fake smile, one Cas could see straight through. “You’re Allison’s aunt, Kate is it?”

“Yeah, and can I tell you that I see where Scott gets it from? You’re stunning.” Smiling, all teeth, Kate turned to Castiel. “And who is this handsome devil?”

After an awkward beat of silence, Castiel remembered himself and stood to take her hand, placing a small peck on it. “I’m Castiel, pleasure to meet you.” In truth, he felt like smiting her, for whatever reason. Perhaps he just didn’t like her perfume.

“I’m sorry, Katie, honey, let’s leave Cas- Castiel and Melissa to finish their meal.” With that Justin guided Kate away, whispering something Cas couldn’t quite catch.

Laughing, Melissa watched the two of them leave. “This place isn’t quite as exclusive as I thought.”

Smiling, Castiel paid the bill. “Shall we go?” Extending a hand, he helped Melissa from her seat and they headed out. “Perhaps we could go to a bar, if you wish?”

Getting in the car, Melissa gave a smile, even if only to herself. “Why don’t we go back to mine. I’ve got beer… and whiskey, if you like that.” She had no idea what she was doing. She knew Scott was out, he had told her he would be doing… whatever. She couldn’t blame the beer for this, c’mon she didn’t even drink that much.

Tilting his head, Castiel gazed into Melissa’s deep brown eyes. She was saying something he couldn’t hear with them. Something laced in the words. Meg had done similar. Less subtly. Humans only did that when they meant… “Oh!” Eyes widening, Castiel looked straight ahead, car still in front of the entrance.

Heart sinking slightly, Melissa knew what that meant. “I’m sorry, just- just forget I said anything.”

Why was his heart beating so fast? “Melissa… It’s just- I’ve… I’m not...”

“No no, please let’s go to that bar. Forget what I-”

Her words were stopped by Castiel softly pressing his mouth against hers. It was a small, gentle kiss, tender. Melissa melted into the touch, melted into the way his thumb ran against her cheek. Pulling away, Castiel’s eyes were blown wide and shimmering blue.

He wanted her to tell him to forget it, that he wasn’t what she wanted. But he also wanted her to want him. He barely knew her but he could see her soul. He hadn’t lost that much of himself.

Holding her breath, Melissa knew he was terrified. She could see it. “You’ve never...?”

“I’ve- I’ve kissed, nothing more.”

Heart stopping, Melissa thought she had just fallen in love. Tracing her fingertip against his lip, she smiled. “It’s okay, I’ll help. Let’s just get to mine first.”

 

That night, Castiel and Melissa lay entwined beneath the cool cotton sheets. Gently running his hand down her arm, he felt her warmth radiate, felt her glow. Every little shift he made, she would hold him closer and whisper something into his chest. There was no way he was moving, not even the apocalypse could make him. For the first time ever, Castiel slept with no nightmares and only thoughts of Melissa. He had found his anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while, but I'm so excited to get this moving again. =]
> 
> I'd like to clarify, the canon pairings for this fic are Dean/Cas, Melissa/Cas, Kate/Justin and any show!canon. 
> 
> This was written so that you can take whatever ships you want from it, much like the shows have them. Sterek etc. are not fic!canon, but you let your ships sail if you want em!


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